wzirll  *Wi— -  JP-^'jr  r    *?*SJ*. 


THE    GRANDISSIMES 


THE    GRANDISSIMES 


A    STORY    OF    CREOLE    LIFE 


GEORGE    W.    CABLE 

AUTHOR  OF   "OLD  CREOLE  DAYS  " 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

743  AND  745  BROADWAY 

1880 


COPYRIGHT  BY 
CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1880 
(All  rights  reserved) 


TROW'S 

PRINTING  AND  HOOK-BINDING  COMPANY 
201-313  East  iitk  Street 

NEW   VOKK 


Stack 
Annex 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I.  PAGE 

Masked  Batteries I 

CHAPTER  II. 
The  Fate  of  the  Immigrant 10 

CHAPTER  III. 
"  And  who  is  my  Neighbor  ?  " 18 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Family  Trees 21 

CHAPTER  V. 
A  Maiden  who  will  not  Marry 31 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Lost  Opportunities 37 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Was  it  Honor6  Grandissime  ? 42 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
Signed — Honor6  Grandissime S l 

CHAPTER  IX. 
Illustrating  the  Tractive  Power  of  Basil 54 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  X.  PAGK 

' '  Oo  dad  is,  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  ?  " 62 

CHAPTER  XI. 
Sudden  Flashes  of  Light 67 

CHAPTER  XII. 
The  Philosophe 71 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
A  Call  from  the  Rent-Spectre 78 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Before  Sunset 88 

CHAPTER  XV. 
Rolled  in  the  Dust 97 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Starlight  in  the  rue  Chartres 114 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
That  Night 118 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
New  Light  upon  Dark  Places 130 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
Art  and  Commerce 141 

CHAPTER  XX. 
A  very  Natural  Mistake 150 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
Doctor  Keene  Recovers  his  Bullet 161 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
Wars  within  the  Breast 165 


CONTENTS.  Vll 

CHAPTER  XXIII.  PAGE 

Frowenfeld  Keeps  his  Appointment 170 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
Frowenfeld  Makes  an  Argument 175 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
Aurora  as  a  Historian 186 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
A  Ride  and  a  Rescue 191 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
The  Fete  de  Grandpere 202 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe 219 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe,  Continued 238 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
Paralysis 253 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
Another  Wound  in  a  New  Place 260 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 
Interrupted  Preliminaries 264 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
Unkindest  Cut  of  All 267 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
Clotilde  as  a  Surgeon 270 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 
"Fo'  wad  you  Cryne?" 276 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXXVI.  TACK 

Aurora's  Last  Picayune  .........................................   280 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
Honore  Makes  some  Confessions.  ...............................     286 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 
Tests  of  Friendship  ............................................   295 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 
Louisiana  States  her  Wants  .....................................   306 

CHAPTER  XL. 
Frowenfelcl  Finds  Sylvestre  ......................................   311 

CHAPTER  XLI. 
To  Come  to  the  Point  ..........................................   319 

CHAPTER  XLII. 
An  Inheritance  of  Wrong  .......................................   32^ 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 
The  Eagle  Visits  the  Doves  in  their  Nest  ..........................  335 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 
Bad  for  Charlie  Keene  ..........................................  347 

CHAPTER  XLV. 
More  Reparation  ..............................................   350 

CHAPTER  XLVI. 
The  Pique-en-terre  Loses  One  of  her  Crew  ........................  354 

CHAPTER  XLVII. 
The  News  ....................................................   364 

CHAPTER  XLVIII. 
An  Indignant  Family  and  a  Smashed  Shop  ..................  ,  .....   367 


CONTENTS.  IX 

CHAPTER  XLIX.  PAGE 

Over  the  New  Store 376 

CHAPTER  L. 
A  Proposal  of  Marriage 381 

CHAPTER  LI. 
Business  Changes 387 

CHAPTER  LII. 
Love  Lies  a-Bleeding 392 

CHAPTER  LIII. 
Frowenfeld  at  the  Grandissime  Mansion 399 

CHAPTER  LIV. 
"  Cauldron  Bubble  " 406 

CHAPTER  LV. 
Caught 409 

CHAPTER  LVI. 
Blood  for  a  Blow 416 

CHAPTER  LVII. 
Voudou  Cured 423 

CHAPTER  LVIII. 
Dying  Words 429 

CHAPTER  LIX. 
Where  some  Creole  Money  Goes 435., 

CHAPTER  LX. 
"  All  Right  " 439 

CHAPTER  LXI. 
"No  !" 444 


THE  GRANDISSIMES. 


CHAPTER   I. 

MASKED   BATTERIES. 

IT  was  in  the  Theatre  St.  Philippe  (they  had  laid  a 
temporary  floor  over  the  parquette  seats)  in  the  city  we 
now  call  New  Orleans,  in  the  month  of  September,  and 
in  the  year  1803.  Under  the  twinkle  of  numberless  can 
dles,  and  in  a  perfumed  air  thrilled  with  the  wailing  ecs 
tasy  of  violins,  the  little  Creole  capital's  proudest  and 
best  were  offering  up  the  first  cool  night  of  the  languidly 
departing  summer  to  the  divine  Terpsichore.  For  sum 
mer  there,  bear  in  mind,  is  a  loitering  gossip,  that  only 
begins  to  talk  of  leaving  when  September  rises  to  go. 
It  was  like  hustling  her  out,  it  is  true,  to  give  a  select 
bal  masque  at  such  a  very  early — such  an  amusingly 
early  elate  ;  but  it  was  fitting  that  something  should  be 
done  for  the  sick  and  the  destitute  ;  and  why  not  this  ? 
Everybody  knows  the  Lord  loveth  a  cheerful  giver. 

And  so,  to  repeat,  it  was  in  the  Theatre  St.  Philippe 
(the  oldest,  the  first  one),  and,  as  may  have  been  noticed, 
in  the  year  in  which  the  First  Consul  of.  France  gave 
i 


2  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

away  Louisiana.  Some  might  call  it  "sold."  Old 
Agricola  Fusilier  in  the  rumbling  pomp  of  his  natural 
voice — for  he  had  an  hour  ago  forgotten  that  he  was  in 
mask  and  domino — called  it  "gave  away."  Not  that 
he  believed  it  had  been  done  ;  for,  look  you,  how  could 
it  be?  The  pretended  treaty  contained,  for  instance, 
no  provision  relative  to  the  great  family  of  Brahmin 
Mandarin  Fusilier  de  Grandissime.  It  was  evidently 
spurious. 

Being  bumped  against,  he  moved  a  step  or  two  aside, 
and  was  going  on  to  denounce  further  the  detestable 
rumor,  when  a  masker — one  of  four  who  had  just  fin 
ished  the  contra-dance  and  were  moving  away  in  the 
column  of  promenaders — brought  him  smartly  around 
with  the  salutation  : 

"  Comment  to  yc,  Citoycn  Agricola  !  " 

"  H-you  young  kitten  !  "  said  the  old  man  in  a  growl 
ing  voice,  and  with  the  teased,  half  laugh  of  aged  vanity 
as  he  bent  a  baffled  scrutiny  at  the  back-turned  face  of 
an  ideal  Indian  Queen.  It  was  not  merely  the  tntoic- 
mcnt  that  struck  him  as  saucy,  but  the  further  familiarity 
of  using  the  slave  dialect. 

"  II-the  cool  rascal!"  he  added  laughingly,  and  only 
half  to  himself;  "get  into  the  garb  of  your  true  sex,  sir, 
h-and  I  will  guess  who  you  are  !  " 

But  the  Queen,  in  the  same  feigned  voice  as  before, 
retorted  : 

11  A/i  f  mo  piti  fils,  to  pas  connais  to  zanccstrcs? 
Don't  you  know  your  ancestors,  my  little  son  !  " 

"  H-the  g-hods  preserve  us!  "  said  Agricola,  with  a 
pompous  laugh  muffled  under  his  mask,  "  the  queen  of 
the  Tchoupitoulas  I  proudly  acknowledge,  and  my  great 
grandfather,  Kpaminondas  Fusilier,  lieutenant  of  dra- 


MASKED   BATTERIES.  3 

goons  under  Bienville  ;  but," — he  laid  his  hand  upon 
his  heart,  and  bowed  to  the  other  two  figures,  whose 
smaller  stature  betrayed  the  gentler  sex — "pardon  me, 
ladies,  neither  Monks  nor  Fillcs  a  la  Cassette  grow  on 
our  family  tree." 

The  four  maskers  at  once  turned  their  glance  upon 
the  old  man  in  the  domino  ;  but  if  any  retort  was  in 
tended  it  gave  way  as  the  violins  burst  into  an  agony  of 
laughter.  The  floor  was  immediately  filled  with  waltzers 
and  the  four  figures  disappeared. 

"  I  wonder,"  murmured  Agricola  to  himself,  "  if  that 
Dragoon  can  possibly  be  Honore  Grandissime." 

Wherever  those  four  maskers  went  there  were  cries  of 
delight :  "  Ho,  ho,  ho  !  see  there  !  here  !  there  !  a  group 
of  first  colonists  !  One  of  Iberville's  Dragoons  !  don't 
you  remember  great-great-grandfather  Fusilier's  portrait 
—  the  gilded  casque  and  heron  plumes?  And  that  one 
behind  in  the  fawn-skin  leggings  and  shirt  of  bird's 
skins  is  an  Indian  Queen.  As  sure  as  sure  can  be,  they 
are  intended  for  Epaminondas  and  his  wife,  Lufki- 
Humma  ! " 

"  But  why,  then,  does  he  not  walk  with  her  ?  " 

"  Why,  because,  Simplicity,  both  of  them  are  men, 
while  the  little  Monk  on  his  arm  is  a  lady,  as  you  can 
see,  and  so  is  the  masque  that  has  the  arm  of  the  Indian 
Queen  ;  look  at  their  little  hands." 

In  another  part  of  the  room  the  four  were  greeted 
with,  "  Ma,  ha,  ha!  well,  that  is  magnificent!  But  see 
that  Huguenotte  Girl  on  the  Indian  Queen's  arm ! 
Isn't  that  fine  !  Ma,  ha  !  she  carries  a  little  trunk. 
She  is  a  Fillc  a  la  Cassette  !  " 

Two  partners  in  a  cotillion  were  speaking  in  an  under 
tone,  behind  a  fan. 


4  THE    GRANDISSLMES. 

"  And  you  think  you  know  who  it  is  ?  "  asked  one. 

"  Know  ?  "  replied  the  other.  "  Do  I  know  I  have  a 
head  on  my  shoulders  ?  If  that  Dragoon  is  not  our  cou 
sin  Honore  Grandissirne — well " 

"  Honore  in  mask?  he  is  too  sober-sided  to  do  such 
a  thing." 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  he  !  Listen.  Yesterday  I  heard  Doc 
tor  Charlie  Keene  begging  him  to  go,  and  telling  him 
there  were  two  ladies,  strangers,  newly  arrived  in  the  city, 
who  would  be  there,  and  whom  he  wished  him  to  meet. 
Depend  upon  it  the  Dragoon  is  Honore,  Lufki-Humma 
is  Charlie  Keene,  and  the  Monk  and  the  Hugucnotte 
are  those  two  ladies." 

But  all  this  is  an  outside  view  ;  let  us  draw  nearer  and  see 
what  chance  may  discover  to  us  behind  those  four  masks. 

An  hour  has  passed  by.  The  dance  goes  on  ;  hearts 
are  beating,  wit  is  flashing,  eyes  encounter  eyes  with 
the  leveled  lances  of  their  beams,  merriment  and  joy 
and  sudden  bright  surprises  thrill  the  breast,  voices  are 
throwing  off  disguise,  and  beauty's  coy  car  is  bending 
with  a  venturesome  docility  ;  here  love  is  baffled,  there 
deceived,  yonder  takes  prisoners  and  here  surrenders. 
The  very  air  seems  to  breathe,  to  sigh,  to  laugh,  while 
the  musicians,  with  disheveled  locks,  streaming  brows 
and  furious  bows,  strike,  draw,  drive,  scatter  from  the 
anguished  violins  a  never-ending  rout  of  screaming  har 
monics.  But  the  Monk  and  the  Huguenotte  are  not  on 
the  floor.  They  are  sitting  where  they  have  been  left 
by  their  two  companions,  in  one  of  the  boxes  of  the 
theater,  looking  out  upon  the  unwearied  whirl  and  flash 
of  gauze  and  light  and  color. 

"  Oh,  chc'nc,  cJitfrie  !  "  murmured  the  little  lady  in  the 
Monk's  disguise  to  her  quieter  companion,  and  speaking 


MASKED  BATTERIES.  5 

in  the  soft  dialect  of  old  Louisiana,  "now  you  get  a 
good  idea  of  heaven  !  " 

The  Fille  a  la  Cassette  replied  with  a  sudden  turn  of 
her  masked  face  and  a  murmur  of  surprise  and  protest 
against  this  impiety.  A  low,  merry  laugh  came  out  of 
the  Monk's  cowl,  and  the  Huguenotte  let  her  form  sink 
a  little  in  her  chair  with  a  gentle  sigh. 

"Ah,  for  shame,  tired!"  softly  laughed  the  other; 
then  suddenly,  with  her  eyes  fixed  across  the  room,  she 
seized  her  companion's  hand  and  pressed  it  tightly. 
"  Do  you  not  see  it  ?  "  she  whispered  eagerly,  "just  by 
the  door — the  casque  with  the  heron  feathers.  Ah, 
Clotilde,  I  cannot  believe  he  is  one  of  those  Grandis- 
simes  !  " 

"  Well,"  replied  the  Huguenotte,  "  Doctor  Keene 
says  he  is  not." 

Doctor  Charlie  Keene,  speaking  from  under  the  dis 
guise  of  the  Indian  Queen,  had  indeed  so  said  ;  but  the 
Recording  Angel,  whom  we  understand  to  be  particular 
about  those  things,  had  immediately  made  a  memoran 
dum  of  it  to  the  debit  of  Doctor  Keene's  account. 

"  If  I  had  believed  that  it  was  he,"  continued  the  whis 
perer,  "  I  would  have  turned  about  and  left  him  in  the 
midst  of  the  contra-dance  !  " 

Behind  them  sat  unmasked  a  well-aged  pair,  "  bre- 
douille"  as  they  used  to  say  of  the  wall-flowers,  with 
that  look  of  blissful  repose  which  marks  the  married  and 
established  Creole.  The  lady  in  monk's  attire  turned 
about  in  her  chair  and  leaned  back  to  laugh  with  these. 
The  passing  maskers  looked  that  way,  with  a  certain  in 
stinct  that  there  was  beauty  under  those  two  costumes. 
As  they  did  so,  they  saw  the  Fille  a  la  Cassette  join  in 
this  over-shoulder  conversation.  A  moment  later,  they 


6  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

saw  the  old  gentleman  protector  and  the  Fille  a  la  Cas 
sette  rising  to  the  dance.  And  when  presently  the  dis 
tant  passers  took  a  final  backward  glance,  that  same 
Lieutenant  of  Dragoons  had  returned  and  he  and  the 
little  Monk  were  once  more  upon  the  floor,  waiting  for 
the  music. 

"But  your  late  companion?"  said  the  voice  in  the 
cowl. 

"  My  Indian  Queen?"  asked  the  Creole  Epaminon- 
das. 

"  Say,  rather,  your  Medicine-Man,"  archly  replied  the 
Monk. 

"  In  these  times,"  responded  the  Cavalier,  "  a  medi 
cine-man  cannot  dance  long  without  professional  inter 
ruption,  even  when  he  dances  for  a  charitable  object. 
He  has  been  called  to  two  relapsed  patients."  The  mu 
sic  struck  up ;  the  speaker  addressed  himself  to  the 
dance  ;  but  the  lady  did  not  respond. 

"  Do  dragoons  ever  moralize  ?  "  she  asked. 

"They  do  more,"  replied  her  partner;  "sometimes, 
when  beauty's  enjoyment  of  the  ball  is  drawing  toward 
its  twilight,  they  catch  its  pleasant  melancholy,  and  con 
fess  ;  will  the  good  father  sit  in  the  confessional  ?  " 

The  pair  turned  slowly  about  and  moved  toward  the 
box  from  which  they  had  come,  the  lady  remaining  si 
lent ;  but  just  as  they  were  entering  she  half  withdrew 
her  arm  from  his,  and,  confronting  him  with  a  rich  spar 
kle  of  the  eyes  within  the  immobile  mask  of  the  monk, 
said  : 

"  Why  should  the  conscience  of  one  poor  little  monk 
carry  all  the  frivolity  of  this  ball  ?  I  have  a  right  to 
dance,  if  I  wish.  I  give  you  my  word,  Monsieur 
Dragoon,  I  dance  only  for  the  benefit  of  the  sick  and 


MASKED  BATTERIES.  7 

the  destitute.  It  is  you  men — you  dragoons  and  others 
who  will  not  help  them  without  a  compensation  in  this 
sort  of  nonsense.  Why  should  we  shrive  you  when  you 
ought  to  burn  ?  " 

"  Then  lead  us  to  the  altar,"  said  the  Dragoon. 

"  Pardon,  sir,"  she  retorted,  her  words  entangled  with 
a  musical,  open-hearted  laugh,  "  I  am  not  going  in  that 
direction."  She  cast  her  glance  around  the  ball-room. 
"  As  you  say,  it  is  the  twilight  of  the  ball  ;  I  am  look 
ing  for  the  evening  star, — that  is,  my  little  Hugue- 
notte." 

"  Then  you  are  well  mated." 

"  How?" 

"  For  you  are  Aurora." 

The  lady  gave  a  displeased  start. 

"Sir!" 

"  Pardon,"  said  the  Cavalier,  "  if  by  accident  I  have 
hit  upon  your  real  name " 

She  laughed  again — a  laugh  which  was  as  exultantly 
joyous  as  it  was  high-bred. 

"  Ah,  my  name  ?  Oh  no,  indeed  !"  (More  work 
for  the  Recording  Angel.) 

She  turned  to  her  protectress. 

"  Madame,  I  know  you  think  we  should  be  going 
home." 

The  senior  lady  replied  in  amiable  speech,  but  with 
sleepy  eyes,  and  the  Monk  began  to  lift  and  unfold  a 
wrapping.  As  the  Cavalier  drew  it  into  his  own  posses 
sion,  and,  agreeably  to  his  gesture,  the  Monk  and  he 
sat  down  side  by  side,  he  said,  in  a  low  tone  : 

"  One  more  laugh  before  we  part." 

"  A  monk  cannot  laugh  for  nothing." 

"  I  will  pay  for  it." 


8  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  But  with  nothing  to  laugh  at?"  The  thought  of 
laughing  at  nothing  made  her  laugh  a  little  on  the  spot. 

"  We  will  make  something  to  laugh  at,"  said  the  cava 
lier  ;  "we  will  unmask  to  each  other,  and  when  we  find 
each  other  first  cousins,  the  laugh  will  come  of  itself." 

"  Ah  !  we  will  unmask  ? — no  !  I  have  no  cousins.  I 
am  certain  we  are  strangers." 

"Then  we  will  laugh  to  think  that  I  paid  for  the  dis 
appointment." 

Much  more  of  this  child-like  badinage  followed,  and 
by  and  by  they  came  around  again  to  the  same  last 
statement.  Another  little  laugh  escaped  from  the  cowl. 

"  You  will  pay  ?  Let  us  see  ;  how  much  will  you  give 
to  the  sick  and  destitute  ?  " 

"To  see  who  it  is  I  am  laughing  with,  I  will  give 
whatever  you  ask." 

"  Two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  cash,  into  the  hands 
of  the  managers  !  " 

"  A  bargain  !  " 

The  Monk  laughed,  and  her  chaperon  opened  her 
eyes  and  smiled  apologetically.  The  Cavalier  laughed, 
too,  and  said  : 

"  Good  !     That  was  the  laugh  ;  now  the  unmasking." 

'k  And  you  positively  will  give  the  money  to  the  mana 
gers  not  later  than  to-morrow  evening  ?  " 

"  Not  later.     It  shall  be  done  without  fail." 
"  Well,  wait  till  I  put  on  my  wrappings  ;  I  must  be 
ready  to  run." 

This  delightful  nonsense  was  interrupted  by  the  return 
of  the  Fille  a  la  Cassette  and  her  aged,  but  sprightly, 
escort,  from  a  circuit  of  the  floor.  Madame  again  opened 
her  eyes,  and  the  four  prepared  to  depart.  The  Dragoon 
helped  the  Monk  to  fortify  herself  against  the  outer  air. 


MASKED   BATTERIES.  9 

She  was  ready  before  the  others.  There  was  a  pause, 
a  low  laugh,  a  whispered  "  Now  !  "  She  looked  upon 
an  unmasked,  noble  countenance,  lifted  her  own  mask  a 
little,  and  then  a  little  more  ;  and  then  shut  it  quickly 
down  again  upon  a  face  whose  beauty  was  more  than 
even  those  fascinating  graces  had  promised  which 
Honore  Grandissime  had  fitly  named  the  Morning  ;  but 
it  was  a  face  he  had  never  seen  before. 

"Flush!"  she  said,  "the  enemies  of  religion  are 
watching  us  ;  the  Huguenotte  saw  me.  Adieu  " — and 
they  were  gone. 

M.  Honore  Grandissime  turned  on  his  heel  and  very 
soon  left  the  ball. 

"  Now,  sir,"  thought  he  to  himself,  "  we'll  return  to 
our  senses." 

"  Now  I'll  put  my  feathers  on  again,"  says  the  plucked 
bird. 

i* 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE   FATE   OF  THE   IMMIGRANT. 

IT  was  just  a  fortnight  after  the  ball,  that  Joseph 
Frowenfeld  opened  his  eyes  upon  Louisiana.  He  was 
an  American  by  birth,  rearing  and  sentiment,  yet  Ger 
man  enough  through  his  parents,  and  the  only  son  in  a 
family  consisting  of  father,  mother,  self,  and  two  sisters, 
new-blown  flowers  of  womanhood.  It  was  an  October 
dawn,  when,  long  wearied  of  the  ocean,  and  with  bright 
anticipations  of  verdure,  and  fragrance,  and  tropical 
gorgeousness,  this  simple-hearted  family  awoke  to  find 
the  bark  that  had  borne  them  from  their  far  northern 
home  already  entering  upon  the  ascent  of  the  Mississippi. 

We  may  easily  imagine  the  grave  group,  as  they  came 
up  one  by  one  from  below,  that  morning  of  first  disap 
pointment,  and  stood  (with  a  whirligig  of  jubilant  mos 
quitoes  spinning  about  each  head)  looking  out  across 
the  waste,  and  seeing  the  sky  and  the  marsh  meet  in  the 
east,  the  north,  and  the  west,  and  receiving  with  patient 
silence  the  father's  suggestion  that  the  hills  would,  no 
doubt,  rise  into  view  after  a  while. 

"  My  children,  we  may  turn  this  disappointment  into 
a  lesson  ;  if  the  good  people  of  this  country  could  speak 
to  us  now,  they  might  well  ask  us  not  to  judge  them  or 
their  land  upon  one  or  two  hasty  glances,  or  by  the 
experiences  of  a  few  sho'rt  days  or  weeks." 


THE   FA  TE    OF   THE   IMMIGRANT.  I  I 

But  no  hills  rose.  However,  by  and  by,  they  found 
solace  in  the  appearance  of  distant  forest,  and  in  the 
afternoon  they  entered  a  land — but  such  a  land  !  A 
land  hung  in  mourning,  darkened  by  gigantic  cypresses, 
submerged  ;  a  land  of  reptiles,  silence,  shadow,  decay. 

"  The  captain  told  father,  when  we  went  to  engage 
passage,  that  New  Orleans  was  on  high  land,"  s'aid  the 
younger  daughter,  with  a  tremor  in  the  voice,  and  ignor 
ing  the  remonstrative  touch  of  her  sister. 

"  On  high  land  ?"  said  the  captain,  turning  from  the 
pilot;  "well,  so  it  is — higher  than  the  swamp,  but  not  high 
er  than  the  river,"  and  he  checked  a  broadening  smile. 

But  the  Frowenfelds  were  not  a  family  to  complain. 
It  was  characteristic  of  them  to  recognize  the  bright  as 
well  as  the  solemn  virtues,  and  to  keep  each  other  re 
minded  of  the  duty  of  cheerfulness.  A  smile,  starting 
from  the  quiet  elder  sister,  went  around  the  group, 
directed  against  the  abstracted  and  somewhat  rueful 
countenance  of  Joseph,  whereat  he  turned  with  a  better 
face,  and  said  that  what  the  Creator  had  pronounced 
very  good  they  could  hardly  feel  free  to  condemn.  The 
old  father  was  still  more  stout  of  heart. 

"  These  mosquitoes,  children,  are  thought  by  some  to 
keep  the  air  pure,"  he  said. 

"  Better  keep  out  of  it  after  sunset,"  put  in  the  captain. 

After  that  day  and  night,  the  prospect  grew  less  re 
pellent.  A  gradually  matured  conviction  that  New 
Orleans  would  not  be  found  standing  on  stilts  in  the 
quagmire,  enabled  the  eye  to  become  educated  to  a 
better  appreciation  of  the  solemn  landscape.  Nor  was 
the  landscape  always  solemn.  There  were  long  open 
ings,  now  and  then,  to  right  and  left,  of  emerald-green 
savannah,  with  the  dazzling  blue  of  the  Gulf  far  beyond, 


12  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

waving  a  thousand  white  handed  good-byes  as  the 
funereal  swamps  slowly  shut  out  again  the  horizon. 
How  sweet  the  soft  breezes  off  the  moist  prairies  !  How 
weird,  how  very  near,  the  crimson  and  green  and  black 
and  yellow  sunsets  !  How  dream-like  the  land  and  the 
great,  whispering  river !  The  profound  stillness  and 
breadth  reminded  the  old  German,  so  he  said,  of  that 
early  time  when  the  evenings  and  mornings  were  the 
first  days  of  the  half-built  world.  The  barking  of  a  dog 
in  Fort  Plaquemines  seemed  to  come  before  its  turn  in 
the  panorama  of  creation — before  the  earth  was  ready 
for  the  dog's  master. 

But  he  was  assured  that  to  live  in  those  swamps  was 
not  entirely  impossible  to  man — "  if  one  may  call  a 
negro  a  man."  Runaway  slaves  were  not  so  rare  in 
them  as  one — a  lost  hunter,  for  example — might  wish. 
His  informant  was  a  new  passenger,  taken  aboard  at  the 
fort.  He  spoke  English. 

"  Yes,  sir  !  Di'  n'  I  'ad  to  run  from  Bras  Coupe  in 
de  haidge  of  de  swamp  be'ine  de  'abitation  of  my  cousin 
Honore,  one  time  ?  You  can  hask  'oo  you  like  !  "  (A 
Creole  always  provides  against  incredulity.)  At  this 
point  he  digressed  a  moment  :  "  You  know  my  cousin, 
Honore  Grandissime,  w'at  give  two  'on'  fiftie  dolla'  to 
de  'ospill  laz  mont'  ?  An'  juz  because  my  cousin  Honore 
give  it,  somebody  helse  give  de  semm.  Fo'  w'y  don'  'e 
give  'is  nemm  ?  " 

The  reason  (which  this  person  did  not  know)  was  that 
the  second  donor  was  the  first  one  over  again,  resolved 
that  the  little  unknown  Monk  should  not  know  whom 
she  had  baffled. 

"  Who  was  Bras  Coupe  ?  "  the  good  German  asked, 
in  French. 


THE   FATE    OF    THE   IMMIGRANT.  13 

The  stranger  sat  upon  the  capstan,  and,  in  the  shadow 
of  the  cypress  forest,  where  the  vessel  lay  moored  for 
a  change  of  wind,  told  in  a  patois  difficult,  but  not 
impossible,  to  understand,  the  story  of  a  man  who  chose 
rather  to  be  hunted  like  a  wild  beast  among  those  awful 
labyrinths,  than  to  be  yoked  and  beaten  like  a  tame  one. 
Joseph,  drawing  near  as  the  story  was  coming  to  a  close, 
overheard  the  following  English  : 

"  Friend,  if  you  dislike  heated  discussion,  do  not  tell 
that  to  my  son." 

The  nights  were  strangely  beautiful.  The  immigrants 
almost  consumed  them  on  deck,  the  mother  and 
daughters  attending  in  silent  delight  while  the  father 
and  son,  facing  south,  rejoiced  in  learned  recognition  of 
stars  and  constellations  hitherto  known  to  them  only  on 
globes  and  charts. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  son,"  said  the  father,  in  a  moment  of 
ecstatic  admiration,  "  wherever  man  may  go,  around  this 
globe — however  uninviting  his  lateral  surroundings  may 
be,  the  heavens  are  ever  over  his  head,  and  I  am  glad  to 
find  the  stars  your  favorite  objects  of  study." 

So  passed  the  time  as  the  vessel,  hour  by  hour,  now 
slowly  pushed  by  the  wind  against  the  turbid  current, 
now  warping  along  the  fragrant  precincts  of  orange  or 
magnolia  groves  or  fields  of  sugar-cane,  or  moored  by 
night  in  the  deep  shade  of  mighty  willow-jungles, 
patiently  crept  toward  the  end  of  their  pilgrimage  ;  and 
in  the  length  of  time  which  would  at  present  be  consumed 
in  making  the  whole  journey  from  their  Northern  home 
to  their  Southern  goal,  accomplished  the  distance  of 
ninety-eight  miles,  and  found  themselves  before  the 
little,  hybrid  city  of  "  Nouvelle  Orleans."  There  was 
the  cathedral,  and  standing  beside  it,  like  Sancho  beside 


14  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

Don  Quixote,  the  squat  hall  of  the  Cabildo  with  the 
calabozo  in  the  rear.  There  were  the  forts,  the  military 
bakery,  the  hospitals,  the  plaza,  the  Almonaster  stores, 
and  the  busy  rue  Toulouse  ;  and,  for  the  rest  of  the 
town,  a  pleasant  confusion  of  green  tree-tops,  red  and 
gray  roofs,  and  glimpses  of  white  or  yellow  wall,  spread 
ing  back  a  few  hundred  yards  behind  the*cathedral,  and 
tapering  into  a  single  rank  of  gardened  and  belvedered 
villas,  that  studded  either  horn  of  the  river's  crescent  with 
a  style  of  home  than  which  there  is  probably  nothing  in 
the  world  more  maternally  home-like. 

"  And  now,"  said  the  "captain,"  bidding  the  immi 
grants  good-by,  "  keep  out  of  the  sun  and  stay  in  after 
dark  ;  you're  not '  acclimated,'  as  they  call  it,  you  know, 
and  the  city  is  full  of  the  fever." 

Such  were  the  Frowenfelds.  Out  of  such  a  mold  and 
into  such  a  place  came  the  young  Americain,  whom  even 
Agricola  Fusilier  as  we  shall  see,  by  and  by  thought 
worthy  to  be  made  an  exception  of,  and  honored  with 
his  recognition. 

The  family  rented  a  two-story  brick  house  in  the  rue 
Bienville,  No.  17,  it  seems.  The  third  day  after,  at  day 
break,  Joseph  called  his  father  to  his  bedside  to  say 
that  he  had  had  a  chill,  and  was  suffering  such  pains  in 
his  head  and  back  that  he  would  like  to  lie  quiet  until 
they  passed  off.  The  gentle  father  replied  that  it  was 
undoubtedly  best  to  do  so  and  preserved  an  outward 
calm.  He  looked  at  his  son's  eyes  ;  their  pupils  \vcre 
contracted  to  tiny  beads.  He  felt  his  pulse  and  his 
brow  ;  there  was  no  room  for  doubt;  it  was  the  dreaded 
scourge — the  fever.  We  say,  sometimes,  of  hearts  that 
they  sink  like  lead  ;  it  does  not  express  the  agony. 

On  the  second  day  while  the  unsated  fever  was  run- 


THE   FATE    OF    THE   IMMIGRANT.  15 

ning  through  every  vein  and  artery,  like  soldiery  through 
the  streets  of  a  burning  city,  and  far  down  in  the  caverns 
of  the  body  the  poison  was  ransacking  every  palpitating 
corner,  the  poor  immigrant  fell  into  a  moment's  sleep. 
But  what  of  that  ?  The  enemy  that  moment  had 
mounted  to  the  brain.  And  then  there  happened  to 
Joseph  an  experience  rare  to  the  sufferer  by  this  disease, 
but  not  entirely  unknown, — a  delirium  of  mingled 
pleasures  and  distresses.  He  seemed  to  awake  some 
where  between  heaven  and  earth  reclining  in  a  gorgeous 
barge,  which  was  draped  in  curtains  of  interwoven  silver 
and  silk,  cushioned  with  rich  stuffs  of  every  beautiful 
dye,  and  perfumed  ad  nauseam  with  orange-leaf  tea. 
The  crew  was  a  single  old  negress,  whose  head  was 
wound  about  with  a  blue  Madras  handkerchief,  and  who 
stood  at  the  prow,  and  by  a  singular  rotary  motion, 
rowed  the  barge  with  a  tea-spoon.  He  could  not  get  his 
head  out  of  the  hot  sun  ;  and  the  barge  went  continually 
round  and  round  with  a  heavy,  throbbing  motion,  in  the 
regular  beat  of  which  certain  spirits  of  the  air — one  of 
whom  appeared  to  be  a  beautiful  girl  and  another  a 
small,  red-haired  man, — confronted  each  other  with  the 
continual  call  and  response  : 

"  Keep  the  bedclothes  on  him  and  the  room  shut 
tight,  keep  the  bedclothes  on  him  and  the  room  shut 
tight," — "An'  don'  give  'im  some  watta,  an'  don'  give 
'im  some  watta." 

During  what  lapse  of  time — whether  moments  or  days 
— this  lasted,  Joseph  could  not  then  know  ;  but  at  last 
these  things  faded  away,  and  there  came  to  him  a  positive 
knowledge  that  he  was  on  a  sick-bed,  where  unless 
something  could  be  done  for  him  he  should  be  dead  in 
an  hour.  Then  a  spoon  touched  his  lips,  and  a  taste 


1 6  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

of  brandy  and  water  went  all  through  him  ;  and  when 
he  fell  into  sweet  slumber  and  awoke,  and  found  the  tea 
spoon  ready  at  his  lips  again,  he  had  to  lift  a  little  the 
two  hands  lying  before  him  on  the  coverlet  to  know  that 
they  were  his — they  were  so  wasted  and  yellow.  He 
turned  his  eyes,  and  through  the  white  gauze  of  the 
mosquito-bar  saw,  for  an  instant,  a  strange  and  beautiful 
young  face  ;  but  the  lids  fell  over  his  eyes,  and  when  he 
raised  them  again  the  blue-turbaned  black  nurse  was 
tucking  the  covering  about  his  feet. 

"  Sister  !" 

No  answer. 

"  Where  is  my  mother  ?  " 

The  negress  shook  her  head. 

He  was  too  weak  to  speak  again,  but  asked  with  his 
eyes  so  persistently,  and  so  pleadingly,  that  by  and  by 
she  gave  him  an  audible  answer.  He  tried  hard  to 
understand  it,  but  could  not,  it  being  in  these  words  : 

"  Li  pa  oult?  tnni  'ci— li  pas  capabe." 

Thrice  a  day  for  three  days  more,  came  a  little  man 
with  a  large  head  surrounded  by  short,  red  curls  and 
with  small  freckles  in  a  fine  skin,  and  sat  down  by  the 
bed  with  a  word  of  good  cheer  and  the  air  of  a  com 
mander.  At  length  they  had  something  like  an  ex 
tended  conversation. 

"  So  you  concluded  not  to  die,  ch  ?  Yes,  I'm  the 
doctor — Doctor  Keene.  A  young  lady  ?  What  young 
lady  ?  No,  sir,  there  has  been  no  young  lady  here. 
You're  mistaken.  Vagary  of  your  fever.  There  has 
been  no  one  here  but  this  black  girl  and  me.  No,  my 
dear  fellow,  your  father  and  mother  can't  see  you  yet ;  you 
don't  want  them  to  catch  the  fever,  do  you  ?  Good-bye. 
Do  as  your  nurse  tells  you,  and  next  week  you  may 


THE   FATE    OF    THE   IMMIGRANT,  lj 

raise  your  head  and  shoulders  a  little  ;  but  if  you  don't 
mind  her  you'll  have  a  back-set,  and  the  devil  himself 
wouldn't  engage  to  cure  you." 

The  patient  had  been  sitting  up  a  little  at  a  time  for 
several  days,  when  at  length  the  doctor  came  to  pay  a 
final  call,  "  as  a  matter  of  form  :  "  but,  after  a  few 
pleasantries,  he  drew  his  chair  up  gravely,  and,  in  a 

tender  tone need  we  say  it  ?  He  had  come  to  tell 

Joseph  that  his  father,  mother,  sisters,  all,  were  gone  on 
a  second — a  longer — voyage,  to  shores  where  there 
could  be  no  disappointments  and  no  fevers,  forever. 

;'  And,  Frowenfeld,"  he  said,  at  the  end  of  their  long 
and  painful  talk,  "  if  there  is  any  blame  attached  to  not 
letting  you  go  with  them,  I  think  I  can  take  part  of  it ; 
but  if  you  ever  want  a  friend, — one  who  is  courteous  to 
strangers  and  ill-mannered  only  to  those  he  likes, — you 
can  call  for  Charlie  Keene.  I'll  drop  in  to  see  you,  any 
how,  from  time  to  time,  till  you  get  stronger.  I  have 
taken  a  heap  of  trouble  to  keep  you  alive,  and  if  you 
should  relapse  now  and  give  us  the  slip,  it  would  be  a 
deal  of  good  physic  wasted  ;  so  keep  in  the  house." 

The  polite  neighbors  who  lifted  their  cocked  hats  to 
Joseph  as  he  spent  a  slow  convalescence  just  within  his 
open  door,  were  not  bound  to  know  how  or  when  he 
might  have  suffered.  There  were  no  "  Howards  "  or  "  Y. 
M.  C.  A's"  in  those  days;  no  "  Peabody  Reliefs." 
Even  had  the  neighbors  chosen  to  take  cognizance  of 
those  bereavements,  they  were  not  so  unusual  as  to  fix 
upon  him  any  extraordinary  interest  as  an  object  of 
sight ;  and  he  was  beginning  most  distressfully  to  realize 
that  "  great  solitude  "  which  the  philosopher  attributes 
to  towns,  when  matters  took  a  decided  turn. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"AND   WHO   IS   MY   NEIGHBOR?" 

WE  say  matters  took  a  turn  ;  or,  better,  that  Frowen- 
fcld's  interest  in  affairs  received  a  new  life.  This  had  its 
beginning  in  Doctor  Keene's  making  himself  specially 
entertaining  in  an  old-family-history  way,  with  a  view 
to  keeping  his  patient  within-doors  for  a  safe  period. 
He  had  conceived  a  great  liking  for  Frowenfeld,  and 
often,  of  an  afternoon,  would  drift  in  to  challenge  him 
to  a  game  of  chess — a  game,  by  the  way,  for  which 
neither  of  them  cared  a  farthing.  The  immigrant  had 
learned  its  moves  to  gratify  his  father,  and  the  doctor — 
the  truth  is,  the  doctor  had  never  quite  learned  them  ; 
but  he  was  one  of  those  men  who  cannot  easily  con 
sent  to  acknowledge  a  mere  affection  for  one,  least  of 
all  one  of  their  own  sex.  It  may  safely  be  supposed, 
then,  that  the  board  often  displayed  an  arrangement 
of  pieces  that  would  have  bewildered  Morphy  him 
self. 

"  By  the  by,  Frowenfeld,"  he  said  one  evening,  after 
the  one  preliminary  move  with  which  he  invariably 
opened  his  game,  "  you  haven't  made  the  acquaintance 
of  your  pretty  neighbors  next  door." 

Frowenfeld  knew  of  no  specially  pretty  neighbors 
next  door  on  either  side — had  noticed  no  ladies. 

"Well,  I  will  take  you  in   to   see  them   sometime.'' 


"AND    WHO   IS  MY  NEIGHBOR?"  1 9 

The  doctor  laughed  a  little,  rubbing  his  face  and  his 
thin,  red  curls  with  one  hand,  as  he  laughed. 

The  convalescent  wondered  what  there  could  be  to 
laugh  at. 

"  Who  are  they  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Their  name  is  De  Grapion — oh,  De  Grapion,  says 
I !  their  name  is  Nancanou.  They  are,  without  excep 
tion,  the  finest  women — the  brightest,  the  best,  and  the 
bravest — that  I  know  in  New  Orleans."  The  doctor  re 
sumed  a  cigar  which  lay  against  the  edge  of  the  chess 
board,  found  it  extinguished,  and  proceeded  to  relight 
it.  "  Best  blood  of  the  Province  ;  good  as  the  Grandis- 
simes.  Blood  is  a  great  thing  here,  in  certain  odd  ways," 
he  went  on.  "  Very  curious  sometimes."  He  stooped 
to  the  floor,  where  his  coat  had  fallen,  and  took  his  hand 
kerchief  from  a  breast-pocket.  "  At  a  grand  mask  ball 
about  two  months  ago,  where  I  had  a  bewilderingly  fine 
time  with  those  ladies,  the  proudest  old  turkey  in  the 
theater  was  an  old  fellow  whose  Indian  blood  shows  in 
his  very  behavior,  and  yet — ha,  ha  !  I  saw  that  same  old 
man,  at  a  quadroon  ball  a  few  years  ago,  walk  up  to  the 
handsomest,  best  dressed  man  in  the  house,  a  man  with 
a  skin  whiter  than  his  own, — a  perfect  gentleman  as  to 
looks  and  manners, — and  without  a  word  slap  him  in  the 
face." 

"  You  laugh  ?  "  asked  Frowenfeld. 

"Laugh?  Why  shouldn't  I?  The  fellow  had  no 
business  there.  Those  balls  are  not  given  to  quadroon 
males,  my  friend.  He  was  lucky  to  get  out  alive,  and 
that  was  about  all  he  did.1' 

"  They  are  right!"  the  doctor  persisted,  in  response 
to  Frowenfeld's  puzzled  look.  "The  people  here  have 
got  to  be  particular.  However,  that  is  not  what  we 


20  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

were  talking  about.  Quadroon  balls  are  not  to  be  men 
tioned  in  connection.  Those  ladies "  He  addressed 

himself  to  the  resuscitation  of  his  cigar.  "  Singular  people 
in  this  country,"  he  resumed  ;  but  his  cigar  would  not 
revive.  He  was  a  poor  story-teller.  To  Frowenfekl — 
as  it  would  have  been  to  any  one,  except  a  Creole  or 
the  most  thoroughly  Creoleized  Americain — his  narra 
tive,  when  it  was  done,  was  little  more  than  a  thick  mist 
of  strange  names,  places  and  events  ;  yet  there  shone  a 
light  of  romance  upon  it  that  filled  it  with  color  and  pop 
ulated  it  with  phantoms.  Frowenfeld's  interest  rose — 
was  allured  into  this  mist — and  there  was  left  befogged. 
As  a  physician,  Doctor  Keene  thus  accomplished  his 
end, — the  mental  diversion  of  his  late  patient, — for  in 
the  midst  of  the  mist  Frowenfeld  encountered  and  grap 
pled  a  problem  of  human  life  in  Creole  type,  the  possible 
correlations  of  whose  quantities  we  shall  presently  find 
him  revolving  in  a  studious  and  sympathetic  mind,  as 
the  poet  of  to-day  ponders  the 

"  Flower  in  the  crannied  wall." 

The  quantities  in  that  problem  were  the  ancestral — the 
maternal — roots  of  those  two  rival  and  hostile  families 
whose  descendants — some  brave,  others  fair — we  find 
unwittingly  thrown  together  at  the  ball,  and  with  whom 
we  are  shortly  to  have  the  honor  of  an  unmasked  ac 
quaintance. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

FAMILY   TREES. 

IN  the  year  1673,  and  in  the  royal  hovel  of  a  Tchoupi- 
toulas  village  not  far  removed  from  that  "Buffalo's 
Grazing-ground,"  now  better  known  as  New  Orleans, 
was  born  Lufki-Humma,  otherwise  Red  Clay.  The 
mother  of  Red  Clay  was  a  princess  by  birth  as  well  as 
by  marriage.  For  the  father,  with  that  devotion  to  his 
people's  interests,  presumably  common  to  rulers,  had 
ten  moons  before  ventured  northward  into  the  territory 
of  the  proud  and  exclusive  Natchez  nation,  and  had  so 
prevailed  with — so  outsmoked — their  "  Great  Sun,"  as 
to  find  himself,  as  he  finally  knocked  the  ashes  from  his 
successful  calumet,  possessor  of  a  wife  whose  pedigree 
included  a  long  line  of  royal  mothers, — fathers  being  of 
little  account  in  Natchez  heraldry,  extending  back  be 
yond  the  Mexican  origin  of  her  nation,  and  disappear 
ing  only  in  the  effulgence  of  her  great  original,  the  orb 
of  day  himself.  As  to  Red  Clay's  paternal  ancestry,  we 
must  content  ourselves  with  the  fact  that  the  father  was 
not  only  the  diplomate  we  have  already  found  him,  but 
a  chief  of  considerable  eminence  ;  that  is  to  say,  of  seven 
feet  stature. 

It  scarce  need  be  said  than  when  Lufki-Humma  was 
born,  the  mother  arose  at  once  from  her  couch  of  skins, 
herself  bore  the  infant  to  the  neighboring  bayou  and 


22  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

bathed  it — not  for  singularity,  nor  for  independence,  nor 
for  vainglory,  but  only  as  one  of  the  heart  curdling  con 
ventionalities  which  made  up  the  experience  of  that  most 
pitiful  of  holy  things,  an  Indian  mother. 

Outside  the  lodge  door  sat  and  continued  to  sit,  as  she 
passed  out,  her  master  or  husband.  His  interest  in  the 
trivialities  of  the  moment  may  be  summed  up  in  this, 
that  he  was  as  fully  prepared  as  some  men  are  in  more 
civilized  times  and  places  to  hold  his  queen  to  strict  ac 
count  for  the  sex  of  her  offspring.  Girls  for  the  Nat 
chez,  if  they  preferred  them,  but  the  chief  of  the  Tchou- 
pitoulas  wanted  a  son.  She  returned  from  the  water, 
came  near,  sank  upon  her  knees,  laid  the  infant  at  his 
feet,  and  lo  !  a  daughter. 

Then  she  fell  forward  heavily  upon  her  face.  It  may 
have  been  muscular  exhaustion,  it  may  have  been  the 
mere  wind  of  her  hasty- tempered  matrimonial  master's 
stone  hatchet  as  it  whiffed  by  her  skull  ;  an  inquest  now 
would  be  too  great  an  irony  ;  but  something  blew  out 
her  "  vile  candle." 

Among  the  squaws  who  came  to  offer  the  accustomed 
funeral  bowlings,  and  seize  mementoes  from  the  de 
ceased  lady's  scant  leavings,  was  one  who  had  in  her 
own  palmetto  but  an  empty  cradle  scarcely  cold,  and 
therefore  a  necessity  at  her  breast,  if  not  a  place  in  her 
heart,  for  the  unfortunate  Lufki-Humma  ;  and  thus  it 
was  that  this  little  waif  came  to  be  tossed,  a  droll  hypo 
thesis  of  flesh,  blood,  nerve  and  brain,  into  the  hands  of 
wild  nature  with  carte  blanche  as  to  the  disposal  of  it. 
And  now,  since  this  was  Agricola's  most  boasted  ances 
tor — since  it  appears  the  darkness  of  her  cheek  had  no 
effect  to  make  him  less  white,  or  qualify  his  right  to 
smite  the  fairest  and  most  distant  descendant  of  an  Afri- 


FAMILY   TREES.  2$ 

can  on  the  face,  and  since  this  proud  station  and  right 
could  not  have  sprung  from  the  squalid  surroundings  of 
her  birth,  let  us  for  a  moment  contemplate  these  crude 
materials. 

As  for  the  flesh,  it  was  indeed  only  some  of  that  "  one 
flesh"  of  which  we  all  are  made;  but  the  blood— to  go 
into  finer  distinctions — the  blood,  as  distinguished  from 
the  milk  of  her  Alibamon  foster-mother,  was  the  blood 
of  the  royal  caste  of  the  great  Toltec  mother-race,  which 
before  it  yielded  its  Mexican  splendors  to  the  conquer 
ing  Aztec,  throned  the  jeweled  and  gold-laden  Inca  in 
the  South,  and  sent  the  sacred  fire  of  its  temples  into 
the  North  by  the  hand  of  the  Natchez.  For  it  is  a  short 
way  of  expressing  the  truth  concerning  Red  Clay's  tis 
sues  to  say  she  had  the  blood  of  her  mother  and  the 
nerve  of  her  father,  the  nerve  of  the  true  North  Ameri 
can  Indian,  and  had  it  in  its  finest  strength. 

As  to  her  infantine  bones,  they  were  such  as  needed 
not  to  fail  of  straightness  in  the  limbs,  compactness  in 
the  body,  smallness  in  hands  and  feet,  and  exceeding 
symmetry  and  comeliness  throughout.  Possibly  between 
the  two  sides  of  the  occipital  profile  there  may  have  been 
an  Incaean  tendency  to  inequality;  but  if  by  any  good 
fortune  her  impressible  little  cranium  should  escape  the 
cradle-straps,  the  shapeliness  that  nature  loves  would 
soon  appear.  And  this  very  fortune  befell  her.  Her 
father's  detestation  of  an  infant  that  had  not  consulted 
his  wishes  as  to  sex,  prompted  a  verbal  decree  which, 
among  other  prohibitions,  forbade  her  skull  the  distor 
tions  that  ambitious  and  fashionable  Indian  mothers  de 
lighted  to  produce  upon  their  offspring. 

And  as  to  her  brain  :  what  can  we  say?  The  casket 
in  which  Nature  sealed  that  brain,  and  in  which  Nature's 


24  77/7;    GKAXDfSSIMKS. 

great  step-sister  Death,  finally  laid  it  away,  has  never 
fallen  into  the  delighted  fingers — and  the  remarkable 
fineness  of  its  texture  will  never  kindle  admiration  in 
the  triumphant  eyes — of  those  whose  scientific  hunger 
drives  them  to  dig  for  crania  Americana  ;  nor  yet  will 
all  their  learned  excavatings  ever  draw  forth  one  of  those 
pale  souvenirs  of  mortality  with  walls  of  shapelier  con 
tour  or  more  delicate  fineness,  or  an  interior  of  more  ad 
mirable  spaciousness,  than  the  fair  council-chamber  un 
der  whose  dome  the  mind  of  Lufki-Humma  used,  about 
two  centuries  ago,  to  sit  in  frequent  conclave  with  high 
thoughts. 

"  I  have  these  facts,"  it  was  Agricola  Fusilier's  habit 
to  say,  "  by  family  tradition  ;  but  you  know,  sir,  h-tra- 
dition  is  much  more  authentic  than  history  !  " 

Listening  Crane,  the  tribal  medicine-man,  one  day 
stepped  softly  into  the  lodge  of  the  giant  chief,  sat  down 
opposite  him  on  a  mat  of  plaited  rushes,  accepted  a 
lighted  calumet,  and,  after  the  silence  of  a  decent  hour, 
broken  at  length  by  the  warrior's  intimation  that  "the 
ear  of  Raging  Buffalo  listened  for  the  voice  of  his  broth 
er,"  said,  in  effect,  that  if  that  ear  would  turn  toward  the 
village  play-ground,  it  would  catch  a  murmur  like  the 
pleasing  sound  of  bees  among  the  blossoms  of  the  ca- 
talpa,  albeit  the  catalpa  was  now  dropping  her  leaves,  for 
it  was  the  moon  of  turkeys.  No,  it  was  the  repressed 
laughter  of  squaws,  wallowing  with  their  young  ones 
about  the  village  pole,  wondering  at  the  Natchez-Tchoupi- 
toulas  child,  whose  eye  was  the  eye  of  the  panther,  and 
whose  words  were  the  words  of  an  aged  chief  in  council. 

There  was  more  added  ;  we  record  only  enough  to 
indicate  the  direction  of  Listening  Crane's  aim.  The 
eye  of  Raging  Buffalo  was  opened  to  see  a  vision  :  the 


FAMILY   TREES.  2$ 

daughter  of  the  Natchez  sitting  in  majesty,  clothed  in 
many-colored  robes  of  shining  feathers  crossed  and 
recrossed  with  girdles  of  serpent-skins  and  of  wampum, 
her  feet  in  quilled  and  painted  moccasins,  her  head 
under  a  glory  of  plumes,  the  carpet  of  buffalo-robes 
about  her  throne  covered  with  the  trophies  of  conquest, 
and  the  atmosphere  of  her  lodge  blue  with  the  smoke  of 
embassadors'  calumets  ;  and  this  extravagant  dream  the 
capricious  chief  at  once  resolved  should  eventually 
become  reality.  "  Let  her  be  taken  to  the  village  tem 
ple,"  he  said  to  his  prime-minister,  "  and  be  fed  by 
warriors  on  the  flesh  of  wolves." 

The  Listening  Crane  was  a  patient  man  ;  he  was  the 
"  man  that  waits  "  of  the  old  French  proverb  ;  all  things 
came  to  him.  He  had  waited  for  an  opportunity  to 
change  his  brother's  mind,  and  it  had  come.  Again,  he 
waited  for  him  to  die  ;  and,  like  Methuselah  and  others, 
he  died.  He  had  heard  of  a  race  more  powerful  than 
the  Natchez — a  white  race  ;  he  waited,  for  them  ;  and 
when  the  year  1682  saw  a  humble  "  black  gown  "  drag 
ging  and  splashing  his  way,  with  La  Salle  and  Tonti, 
through  the  swamps  of  Louisiana,  holding  forth  the 
crucifix  and  backed  by  French  carbines  and  Mohican 
tomahawks,  among  the  marvels  of  that  wilderness  was 
found  this  :  a  child  of  nine  sitting,  and — with  some 
unostentatious  aid  from  her  medicine-man — ruling ; 
queen  of  her  tribe  and  high-priestess  of  their  temple. 
Fortified  by  the  acumen  and  self-collected  ambition  of 
Listening  Crane,  confirmed  in  her  regal  title  by  the 
white  man's  Manitou  through  the  medium  of  the  "black 
gown,"  and  inheriting  her  father's  fear-compelling  frown, 
she  ruled  with  majesty  and  wisdom,  sometimes  a  decreer 
of  bloody  justice,  sometimes  an  Amazonian  counselor  of 


26  THE    GRANDISS1MES. 

warriors,  and  at  all  times — year  after  year,  until  she  had 
reached  the  perfect  womanhood  of  twenty-six— a  virgin 
queen. 

On  the  nth  of  March,  1699,  two  overbold  young 
Frenchmen  of  M.  D'Iberville's  little  exploring  party 
tossed  guns  on  shoulder,  and  ventured  away  from  their 
canoes  on  the  bank  of  the  Mississippi  into  the  wilderness. 
Two  men  they  were  whom  an  explorer  would  have  been 
justified  in  hoarding  up,  rather  than  in  letting  out  at  such 
risks  ;  a  pair  to  lean  on,  noble  and  strong.  They  hunted, 
killed  nothing,  were  overtaken  by  rain,  then  by  night, 
hunger,  alarm,  despair. 

And  when  they  had  lain  down  to  die,  and  had  only 
succeeded  in  falling  asleep,  the  Diana  of  the  Tchoupitou- 
las,  ranging  the  magnolia  groves  with  bow  and  quiver, 
came  upon  them  in  all  the  poetry  of  their  hope-forsaken 
strength  and  beauty,  and  fell  sick  of  love.  We  say  not 
whether  with  Zephyr  Grandissime  or  Epaminondas  Fusi 
lier  ;  that,  for  the  time  being,  was  her  secret. 

The  two  captives  were  made  guests.  Listening  Crane 
rejoiced  in  them  as  representatives  of  the  great  gift-mak 
ing  race,  and  indulged  himself  in  a  dream  of  pipe-smok 
ing,  orations,  treaties,  presents  and  alliances,  finding  its 
climax  in  the  marriage  of  his  virgin  queen  to  the  king  of 
France,  and  unvaryingly  tending  to  the  swiftly  increas 
ing  aggrandizement  of  Listening  Crane.  They  sat  down 
to  bear's  meat,  sagamite  and  beans.  The  queen  sat 
down  with  them,  clothed  in  her  entire  wardrobe  :  vest 
of  swan's  skin,  with  facings  of  purple  and  green  from  the 
neck  of  the  mallard  ;  petticoat  of  plaited  hair,  with 
embroideries  of  quills  ;  leggings  of  fawn-skin  ;  garters 
of  wampum  ;  black  and  green  serpent-skin  moccasins, 
that  rested  on  pelts  of  tiger-cat  and  buffalo  ;  armlets  of 


FAMILY   TREES.  27 

gars'  scales,  necklaces  of  bears'  claws  and  alligators'  teeth, 
plaited  tresses,  plumes  of  raven  and  flamingo,  wing  of 
the  pink  curlew,  and  odors  of  bay  and  sassafras.  Young 
men  danced  before  them,  blowing  upon  reeds,  hooting, 
yelling,  rattling  beans  in  gourds  and  touching  hands  and 
feet.  One  day  was  like  another,  and  the  nights  were 
made  brilliant  with  flambeau  dances  and  processions. 

Some  days  later  M.  D'Iberville's  canoe  fleet,  return 
ing  down  the  river  found  and  took  from  the  shore  the 
two  men,  whom  they  had  given  up  for  dead,  and  with 
them,  by  her  own  request,  the  abdicating  queen,  who 
left  behind  her  a  crowd  of  weeping  and  howling  squaws 
and  warriors.  Three  canoes  that  put  off  in  their  wake, 
at  a  word  from  her,  turned  back  ;  but  one  old  man 
leaped  into  the  water,  swam  after  them  a  little  way,  and 
then  unexpectedly  sank.  It  was  that  cautious  wader 
but  inexperienced  swimmer,  the  Listening  Crane. 

When  the  expedition  reached  Biloxi,  there  were  two 
suitors  for  the  hand  of  Agricola's  great  ancestress. 
Neither  of  them  was  Zephyr  Grandissime.  (Ah  !  the 
strong  heads  of  those  Grandissimes.) 

They  threw  dice  for  her.  Demosthenes  De  Grapion 
—he  who,  tradition  says,  first  hoisted  the  flag  of  France 
over  the  little  fort — seemed  to  think  he  ought  to  have  a 
chance,  and  being  accorded  it,  cast  an  astonishingly 
high  number  ;  but  Epaminondas  cast  a  number  higher 
by  one  (which  Demosthenes  never  could  quite  under 
stand),  and  got  a  wife  who  had  loved  him  from  first 
sight. 

Thus,  while  the  pilgrim  fathers  of  the  Mississippi 
Delta  with  Gallic  recklessness  were  taking  wives  and 
moot-wives  from  the  ill  specimens  of  three  races,  arose, 
with  the  church's  benediction,  the  royal  house  of  the 


25  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

Fusiliers  in  Louisiana.  But  the  true,  main  Grandissime 
stock,  on  which  the  Fusiliers  did  early,  ever,  and  yet  do, 
love  to  marry,  has  kept  itself  lily-white  ever  since  France 
has  loved  lilies — as  to  marriage,  that  is ;  as  to  less 
responsible  entanglements,  why,  of  course — 

After  a  little,  the  disappointed  Demosthenes,  with  clue 
ecclesiastical  sanction,  also  took  a  most  excellent  wife, 
from  the  first  cargo  of  House  of  Correction  girls.  Her 
biography,  too,  is  as  short  as  Methuselah's,  or  shorter; 
she  died.  Zephyr  Grandissime  married,  still  later,  a 
lady  of  rank,  a  widow  without  children,  sent  from  France 
to  Biloxi  under  a  Icttre  de  cachet.  Demosthenes  De 
Grapion,  himself  an  only  son,  left  but  one  son,  who  also 
left  but  one.  Yet  they  were  prone  to  early  marriages. 

So  also  were  the  Grandissimes,  or,  as  the  name  is 
signed  in  all  the  old  notarial  papers,  the  Brahmin  Man 
darin  de  Grandissimes.  That  was  one  thing  that  kept 
their  many-stranded  family  line  so  free  from  knots  and 
kinks.  Once  the  leisurely  Zephyr  gave  them  a  start, 
generation  followed  generation  with  a  rapidity  that  kept 
the  competing  De  Grapions  incessantly  exasperated,  and 
new-made  Grandissime  fathers  continually  throwing 
themselves  into  the  fond  arms  and  upon  the  proud  necks 
of  congratulatory  grandsires.  Verily  it  seemed  as  though 
their  family  tree  was  a  fig-tree  ;  you  could  not  look  for 
blossoms  on  it,  but  there,  instead,  was  the  fruit  full  of 
seed.  And  with  all  their  speed  they  were  for  the  most 
part  fine  of  stature,  strong  of  limb  and  fair  of  face.  The 
old  nobility  of  their  stock,  including  particularly  the 
unnamed  blood  of  her  of  the  Icttre  de  cachet,  showed 
forth  in  a  gracefulness  of  carriage,  that  almost  identified 
a  De  Grandissime  wherever  you  saw  him,  and  in  a 
transparency  of  flesh  and  classic  beauty  of  feature,  that 


FAMILY   TREES.  2 9 

made  their  daughters  extra-marriageable  in  a  land  and 
day  which  was  bearing  a  wide  reproach  for  a  male  celi 
bacy  not  of  the  pious  sort. 

In  a  flock  of  Grandissimes  might  always  be  seen  a 
Fusilier  or  two  ;  fierce-eyed,  strong-beaked,  dark,  heavy- 
taloned  birds,  who,  if  they  could  not  sing,  were  of  rich 
plumage,  and  could  talk  and  bite,  and  strike,  and  keep 
up  a  ruffled  crest  and  a  self-exalting  bad  humor.  They 
early  learned  one  favorite  cry,  with  which  they  greeted 
all  strangers,  crying  the  louder  the  more  the  endeavor 
was  made  to  appease  them  :  "  Invaders  !  Invaders  !  " 

There  was  a  real  pathos  in  the  contrast  offered  to  this 
family  line  by  that  other  which  sprang  up  as  slenderly 
as  a  stalk  of  wild  oats  from  the  loins  of  Demosthenes  De 
Grapion.  A  lone  son  following  a  lone  son,  and  he 
another — it  was  sad  to  contemplate,  in  that  colonial 
beginning  of  days,  three  generations  of  good,  Gallic 
blood  tripping  jocundly  along  in  attenuated  Indian  file. 
It  made  it  no  less  pathetic  to  see  that  they  were 
brilliant,  gallant,  much-loved,  early  epauletted  fellows, 
who  did  not  let  twenty-one  catch  them  without  wives 
sealed  with  the  authentic  wedding  kiss,  nor  allow  twenty- 
two  to  find  them  without  an  heir.  But  they  had  a  sad 
aptness  for  dying  young.  It  was  altogether  supposable 
that  they  would  have  spread  out  broadly  in  the  land  ; 
but  they  were  such  inveterate  duelists,  such  brave  Indian- 
fighters,  such  adventurous  swamp-rangers,  and  such 
lively  free-livers,  that,  however  numerously  their  half- 
kin  may  have  been  scattered  about  in  an  unacknowl 
edged  way,  the  avowed  name  of  De  Grapion  had  become 
less  and  less  frequent  in  lists  where  leading  citizens 
subscribed  their  signatures,  and  was  not  to  be  seen  in 
the  list  of  managers  of  the  late  ball. 


3°  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

It  is  not  at  all  certain  that  so  hot  a  blood  would  not 
have  boiled  away  entirely  before  the  night  of  the  bal 
masque,  but  for  an  event  which  led  to  the  union  of  that 
blood  with  a  stream  equally  clear  and  rudely,  but  of  a 
milder  vintage.  This  event  fell  out  some  fifty-two  years 
after  that  cast  of  the  dice  which  made  the  princess  Luf- 
ki-Humma  the  mother  of  all  the  Fusiliers  and  of  none 
of  the  De  Grapions.  Clotilde,  the  Casket-Girl,  the  little 
maid  who  would  not  marry,  was  one  of  an  heroic  sort, 
worth — the  De  Grapions  maintained — whole  swampfuls 
of  Indian  queens.  And  yet  the  portrait  of  this  great 
ancestress,  which  served  as  a  pattern  to  one  who,  at  the 
ball,  personated  the  long-deceased  heroine  en  masque, 
is  hopelessly  lost  in  some  garret.  Those  Creoles  have 
such  a  shocking  way  of  filing  their  family  relics  and 
records  in  rat-holes. 

One  fact  alone  remains  to  be  stated  :  that  the  De 
Grapions,  try  to  spurn  it  as  they  would,  never  could 
quite  suppress  a  hard  feeling  in  the  face  of  the  record, 
that  from  the  two  young  men  who,  when  lost  in  the 
horrors  of  Louisiana's  swamps,  had  been  esteemed 
as  good  as  dead,  and  particularly  from  him  who  married 
at  his  leisure, — from  Zephyr  de  Grandissime, — sprang 
there  so  many  as  the  sands  of  the  Mississippi  innumer 
able. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A   MAIDEN   WHO   WILL   NOT   MARRY. 

MIDWAY  between  the  times  of  Lufki-Humma  and 
those  of  her  proud  descendant,  Agricola  Fusilier,  fifty- 
two  years  lying  on  either  side,  were  the  days  of  Pierre 
Rigaut,  the  magnificent,  the  "Grand  Marquis,"  the 
Governor,  De  Vaudreuil.  He  was  the  Solomon  of 
Louisiana.  For  splendor,  however,  not  for  wisdom. 
Those  were  the  gala  days  of  license,  extravagance  and 
pomp.  He  made  paper  money  to  be  as  the  leaves  of  the 
forest  for  multitude  ;  it  was  nothing  accounted  of  in  the 
days  of  the  Grand  Marquis.  For  Louis  Quinze  was 
king. 

Clotilde,  orphan  of  a  murdered  Huguenot,  was  one  of 
sixty,  the  last  royal  allotment  to  Louisiana,  of  imported 
wives.  The  king's  agents  had  inveigled  her  away  from 
France  with  fair  stories  :  "  They  will  give  you  a  quiet 
home  with  some  lady  of  the  colony.  Have  to  marry  ? 
— not  unless  it  pleases  you.  The  king  himself  pays  your 
passage  and  gives  you  a  casket  of  clothes.  Think  of 
that  these  times,  fillette  ;  and  passage  free,  withal,  to — 
the  garden  of  Eden,  as  you  may  call  it — what  more,  say 
you,  can  a  poor  girl  want  ?  Without  doubt,  too,  like  a 
model  colonist,  you  will  accept  a  good  husband  and  have 
a  great  many  beautiful  children,  who  will  say  with  pride, 
'Me,  I  am  no  House-of-Correction-girl  stock;  my 


32  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

mother' — or  '  grandmother,'  as  the  case  may  be — '  was  a 
fille  a  la  cassette  !  ' 

The  sixty  were  landed  in  New  Orleans  and  given  into 
the  care  of  the  Ursuline  nuns  ;  and,  before  many  days 
had  elapsed,  fifty-nine  soldiers  of  the  king  were  well 
wived  and  ready  to  settle  upon  their  riparian  land-grants. 
The  residuum  in  the  nuns'  hands  was  one  stiff-necked 
little  heretic,  named,  in  part,  Clotilde.  They  bore  with 
her  for  sixty  days,  and  then  complained  to  the  Grand 
Marquis.  But  the  Grand  Marquis,  with  all  his  pomp, 
was  gracious  and  kind-hearted,  and  loved  his  ease  almost 
as  much  as  his  marchioness  loved  money.  He  bade 
them  try  her  another  month.  They  did  so,  and  then 
returned  with  her ;  she  would  neither  marry  nor  pray  to 
Mary. 

Here  is  the  way  they  talked  in  New  Orleans  in  those 
days.  If  you  care  to  understand  why  Louisiana  has 
grown  up  so  out  of  joint,  note  the  tone  of  those  who 
governed  her  in  the  middle  of  the  last  century  : 

"  What,  my  child,"  the  Grand  Marquis  said,  "  you  a 
fille  a  la  cassette  ?  France,  for  shame  !  Come  here  by 
my  side.  Will  you  take  a  little  advice  from  an  old 
soldier  ?  It  is  in  one  word— submit.  Whatever  is  in 
evitable,  submit  to  it.  If  you  want  to  live  easy  and 
sleep  easy,  do  as  other  people  do — submit.  Consider 
submission  in  the  present  case  ;  how  easy,  how  comfort 
able,  and  how  little  it  amounts  to  !  A  little  hearing  of 
mass,  a  little  telling  of  beads,  a  little  crossing  of  one's 
self — what  is  that  ?  One  need  not  believe  in  them. 
Don't  shake  your  head.  Take  my  example  ;  look  at 
me  ;  all  these  things  go  in  at  this  ear  and  out  at  this. 
Do  king  or  clergy  trouble  me  ?  Not  at  all.  For  how 
does  the  kin";  in  these  matters  of  religion  ?  I  shall  not 


A   MAIDEN   WHO    WILL   NOT  MARRY.  33 

even  tell  you,  he  is  such  a  bad  boy.  Do  you  not  know 
that  all  the  noblesse,  and  all  the  savants,  and  especially 
all  the  archbishops  and  cardinals, — all,  in  a  word,  but 
such  silly  little  chicks  as  yourself, — have  found  out  that 
this  religious  business  is  a  joke  ?  Actually  a  joke,  every 
whit ;  except,  to  be  sure,  this  heresy  phase  ;  that  is  a 
joke  they  cannot  take.  Now,  I  wish  you  well,  pretty 
child  ;  so  if  you — eh  ? — truly,  my  pet,  I  fear  we  shall 
have  to  call  you  unreasonable.  Stop  ;  they  can  spare 
me  here  a  moment  ;  I  will  take  you  to  the  Marquise  ; 
she  is  in  the  next  room.  *  *  *  Behold,"  said  he,  as  he 
entered  the  presence  of  his  marchioness,  "  the  little  maid 
who  will  not  marry  !  " 

The  Marquise  was  as  cold  and  hard-hearted  as  the 
Marquis  was  loose  and  kind  ;  but  we  need  not  recount 
the  slow  tortures  of  the  fille  a  la  cassette's  second  verbal 
temptation.  The  colony  had  to  have  soldiers,  she  was 
given  to  understand,  and  the  soldiers  must  have  wives. 
"  Why,  I  am  a  soldier's  wife,  myself!  "  said  the  gorge 
ously  attired  lady,  laying  her  hand  upon  the  governor- 
general's  epaulet.  She  explained,  further,  that  he  was 
rather  soft-hearted,  while  she  was  a  business  woman  ; 
also  that  the  royal  commissary's  rolls  did  not  compre 
hend  such  a  thing  as  a  spinster,  and — incidentally — that 
living  by  principle  was  rather  out  of  fashion  in  the  Pro 
vince  just  then. 

After  she  had  offered  much  torment  of  this  sort,  a 
definite  notion  seemed  to  take  her  ;  she  turned  her  lord 
by  a  touch  of  the  elbow,  and  exchanged  two  or  three 
business-like  whispers  with  him  at  a  window  overlook 
ing  the  Levee. 

"Fillette,"  she  said,  returning,  "  you  are  going  to  live 
on  the  sea-coast.  I  am  sending  an  aged  lady  there  to 


34  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

gather  the  wax  of  the  wild  myrtle.  This  good  soldier 
of  mine  buys  it  for  our  king  at  twelve  livres  the  pound. 
Do  you  not  know  that  women  can  make  money  ?  The 
place  is  not  safe  ;  but  there  are  no  safe  places  in 
Louisiana.  There  are  no  nuns  to  trouble  you  there  ; 
only  a  few  Indians  and  soldiers.  You  and  Madame  will 
live  together,  quite  to  yourselves,  and  can  pray  as  you 
like." 

"  And  not  marry  a  soldier,"  said  the  Grand  Marquis. 

"  No,"  said  the  lady,  "  not  if  you  can  gather  enough 
myrtle-berries  to  afford  me  a  profit  and  you  a  living." 

It  was  some  thirty  leagues  or  more  eastward  to  the 
country  of  the  Biloxis,  a  beautiful  land  of  low,  evergreen 
hills  looking  out  across  the  pine-covered  sand-keys  of 
Missisippi  Sound  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  The  northern 
shore  of  Biloxi  Bay  was  rich  in  candleberry-myrtle.  In 
Clotilda's  day,  though  Biloxi  was  no  longer  the  capital  of 
the  Mississippi  Valley,  the  fort  which  DTberville  had 
built  in  1699,  and  the  first  timber  of  which  is  said  to  have 
been  lifted  by  Zephyr  Grandissime  at  one  end  and 
Epaminondas  Fusilier  at  the  other,  was  still  there, 
making  brave  against  the  possible  advent  of  corsairs, 
with  a  few  old  culverines  and  one  wooden  mortar. 

And  did  the  orphan,  in  despite  of  Indians  and  soldiers 
and  wilderness  settle  down  here  and  make  a  moderate 
fortune  ?  Alas,  she  never  gathered  a  berry!  When  she 
— with  the  aged  lady,  her  appointed  companion  in  exile, 
the  young  commandant  of  the  fort,  in  whose  pinnace 
they  had  come,  and  two  or  three  French  sailors  and 
Canadians — stepped  out  upon  the  white  sand  of  Biloxi 
beach,  she  was  bound  with  invisible  fetters  hand  and  foot, 
by  that  Olympian  rogue  of  a  boy,  who  likes  no  better 
prey  than  a  little  maiden  who  thinks  she  will  never  marry. 


A   MAIDEN    WHO    WILL   NOT  MARRY.  35 

The  officer's  name  was  De  Grapion — Georges  De 
Grapion.  The  Marquis  gave  him  a  choice  grant  of  land 
on  that  part  of  the  Mississippi  river  "coast"  known  as 
the  Cannes  Brulees. 

"  Of  course  you  know  where  Cannes  Brulees  is,  don't 
you  ?  "  asked  Doctor  Keene  of  Joseph  Frowenfeld. 

"  Yes,"  said  Joseph,  with  a  twinge  of  reminiscence  that 
recalled  the  study  of  Louisiana  on  paper  with  his  father 
and  sisters. 

There  Georges  De  Grapion  settled,  with  the  laudable 
determination  to  make  a  fresh  start  against  the  mortify 
ing  numerous  Grandissimes. 

"  My  father's  policy  was  every  way  bad,"  he  said  to 
his  spouse  ;  "  it  is  useless,  and  probably  wrong,  this 
trying  to  thin  them  out  by  duels  ;  we  will  try  another 
plan.  Thank  you,"  he  added,  as  she  handed  his  coat 
back  to  him,  with  the  shoulder-straps  cut  off.  In 
pursuance  of  the  new  plan,  Madame  De  Grapion,— the 
precious  little  heroine  ! — before  the  myrtles  offered 
another  crop  of  berries,  bore  him  a  boy  not  much  smaller 
(saith  tradition)  than  herself. 

Only  one  thing  qualified  the  father's  elation.  On  that 
very  day  Numa  Grandissime  (Brahmin-Mandarin  de 
Grandissime),  a  mere  child,  received  from  Governor  De 
Vaudreuil  a  cadetship. 

"  Never  mind,  Messieurs  Grandissime,  go  on  with 
your  tricks  ;  we  shall  see  !  Ha  !  we  shall  see  !  " 

"  We  shall  see  what  ?  "  asked  a  remote  relative  of  that 
family.  "Will  Monsieur  be  so  good  as  to  explain  him 
self?" 


36  THE    GRAND1SSIMES. 

Bang  !  bang  ! 

Alas,  Madame  De  Grapion  ! 

It  may  be  recorded  that  no  affair  of  honor  in 
Louisiana  ever  left  a  braver  little  widow.  When  Joseph 
and  his  doctor  pretended  to  play  chess  together,  but 
little  more  than  a  half-century  had  elapsed  since  they?//^  a 
la  cassette  stood  before  the  Grand  Marquis  and  refused  to 
wed.  Yet  she  had  been  long  gone  into  the  skies,  leaving 
a  worthy  example  behind  her  in  twenty  years  of  beauti 
ful  widowhood.  Her  son,  the  heir  and  resident  of  the 
plantation  at  Cannes  Brulees,  at  the  age  of — they  do  say 
—  eighteen,  had  married  a  blithe  and  pretty  lacly  of 
Franco-Spanish  extraction,  and,  after  a  fair  length  of 
life  divided  between  campaigning  under  the  brilliant 
young  Galvez  and  raising  unremunerative  indigo  crops, 
had  lately  lain  down  to  sleep,  leaving  only  two  descend 
ants — females — how  shall  we  describe  them  ? — a  Monk 
and  a  Fille  a  la  Cassette.  It  was  very  hard  to  have  to  go 
leaving  his  family  name  snuffed  out  and  certain  Grandis- 
sime-ward  grievances  burning. 

"There  are  so  many  Grandissimes,"  said  the  weary- 
eyed  Frowenfeld,  "  I  cannot  distinguish  between — I  can 
scarcely  count  them." 

"  Well,  now,"  said  the  doctor,  "  let  me  tell  you,  don't 
try.  They  can't  do  it  themselves.  Take  them  in  the 
mass — as  you  would  shrimps." 


CHAPTER   VI. 

LOST   OPPORTUNITIES. 

THE  little  doctor  tipped  his  chair  back  against  the 
wall,  drew  up  his  knees,  and  laughed  whimperingly  in 
his  freckled  hands. 

"  I  had  to  do  some  prodigious  lying  at  that  ball.  I 
didn't  dare  let  the  De  Grapion  ladies  know  they  were  in 
company  with  a  Grandissime." 

"  I  thought  you  said  their  name  was  Nancanou." 

"Well,  certainly — De  Grapion-Nancanou.  You  see, 
that  is  one  of  their  charms  ;  one  is  a  widow,  the  other  is 
her  daughter,  and  both  as  young  and  beautiful  as  Hebe. 
Ask  Honore  Grandissime  ;  he  has  seen  the  little  widow  ; 
but  then  he  don't  know  who  she  is.  He  will  not  ask 
me,  and  I  will  not  tell  him.  Oh  yes  ;  it  is  about  eigh 
teen  years  now  since  old  De  Grapion — elegant,  high- 
stepping  old  fellow — married  her,  then  only  sixteen 
years  of  age,  to  young  Nancanou,  an  indigo-planter  on 
the  Fausse  Riviere — the  old  bend,  you  know,  behind 
Pointe  Coupee.  The  young  couple  went  there  to  live. 
I  have  been  told  they  had  one  of  the  prettiest  places  in 
Louisiana.  He  was  a  man  of  cultivated  tastes,  educated 
in  Paris,  spoke  English,  was  handsome  (convivial,  of 
course),  and  of  perfectly  pure  blood.  But  there  was  one 
thing  old  De  Grapion  overlooked  ;  he  and  his  son-in- 
law  were  the  last  of  their  names.  In  Lousiana  a  man 


38  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

needs  kinfolk.  He  ought  to  have  married  his  daughter 
into  a  strong  house.  They  say  that  Numa  Grandissime 
(Honore's  father)  and  he  had  patched  up  a  peace  be 
tween  the  two  families  that  included  even  old  Agricola, 
and  that  he  could  have  married  her  to  a  Grandissime. 
However,  he  is  supposed  to  have  known  what  he  was 
about. 

"A  matter  of  business  called  young  Nancanou  to 
New  Orleans.  He  had  no  friends  here ;  he  was  a 
Creole,  but  what  part  of  his  life  had  not  been  spent  on 
his  plantation  he  had  passed  in  Europe.  He  could  not 
leave  his  young  girl  of  a  wife  alone  in  that  exiled  sort  of 
plantation  life,  so  he  brought  her  and  the  child  (a  girl) 
down  with  him  as  far  as  to  her  father's  place,  left  them 
there,  and  came  on  to  the  city  alone. 

"  Now,  what  does  the  old  man  do  but  give  him  a  let 
ter  of  introduction  to  old  Agricole  Fusilier  !  (His  name 
is  Agricola,  but  we  shorten  it  to  Agricole.)  It  seems 
that  old  De  Grapion  and  Agricole  had  had  the  indiscre 
tion  to  scrape  up  a  mutually  complimentary  correspond 
ence.  And  to  Agricole  the  young  man  went. 

"  They  became  intimate  at  once,  drank  together, 
danced  with  the  quadroons  together,  and  got  into  as 
much  mischief  in  three  days  as  I  ever  did  in  a  fortnight. 
So  affairs  went  on  until  by  an  by  they  were  gambling 
together.  One  night  they  were  at  the  Piety  Club,  play 
ing  hard,  and  the  planter  lost  his  last  quarti.  He  be 
came  desperate,  and  did  a  thing  I  have  known  more 
than  one  planter  to  do  :  wrote  his  pledge  for  every  ar- 
pent  of  his  land  and  every  slave  on  it,  and  staked  that. 
Agricole  refused  to  play.  '  You  shall  play,'  said  Nanca 
nou,  and  when  the  game  was  ended  he  said  :  '  Monsieur 
Agricola  Fusilier,  you  cheated.'  You  see?  Just  as  I 


LOST  OPPORTUNITIES.  39 

have  frequently  been  tempted  to  remark  to  my  friend, 
Mr.  Frowenfeld. 

"  But,  Frowenfeld,  you  must  know,  withal  the  Creoles 
are  such  gamblers,  they  never  cheat ;  they  play  abso 
lutely  fair.  So  Agricole  had  to  challenge  the  planter. 
He  could  not  be  blamed  for  that ;  there  was  no  choice — 
oh,  now,  Frowenfeld,  keep  quiet!  I  tell  you  there  was 
no  choice.  And  the  fellow  was  no  coward.  He  sent 
Agricole  a  clear  title  to  the  real  estate  and  slaves, — lack 
ing  only  the  wife's  signature, — accepted  the  challenge 
and  fell  dead  at  the  first  fire. 

"  Stop,  now,  and  let  me  finish.  Agricole  sat  down 
and  wrote  to  the  widow  that  he  did  not  wish  to  deprive 
her  of  her  home,  and  that  if  she  would  state  in  writing 
her  belief  that  the  stakes  had  been  won  fairly,  he  would 
give  back  the  whole  estate,  slaves  and  all ;  but  that  if 
she  would  not,  he  should  feel  compelled  to  retain  it  in 
vindication  of  his  honor.  Now  wasn't  that  drawing  a 
fine  point  ? "  The  doctor  laughed  according  to  his 
habit,  with  his  face  down  in  his  hands.  "You  see,  he 
wanted  to  stand  before  all  creation — the  Creator  did  not 
make  so  much  difference — in  the  most  exquisitely  proper 
light ;  so  he  puts  the  laws  of  humanity  under  his  feet, 
and  anoints  himself  from  head  to  foot  with  Creole  punc 
tilio." 

"  Did  she  sign  the  paper  ?  "  asked  Joseph. 

"She?  Wait  till  you  know  her!  No,  indeed;  she 
had  the  true  scorn.  She  and  her  father  sent  down  an 
other  and  a  better  title.  Creole-like,  they  managed  to 
bestir  themselves  to  that  extent  and  there  they  stopped. 

"  And  the  airs  with  which  they  did  it !  They  kept  all 
their  rage  to  themselves,  and  sent  the  polite  word,  that 
they  were  not  acquainted  with  the  merits  of  the  case, 


4O  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

that  they  were  not  disposed  to  make  the  long  and  ardu 
ous  trip  to  the  city  and  back,  and  that  if  M.  Fusilier  de 
Grandissime  thought  he  could  find  any  pleasure  or  profit 
in  owning  the  place,  he  was  welcome  ;  that  the  widow 
of  his  late  friend  was  not  disposed  to  live  on  it,  but 
would  remain  with  her  father  at  the  paternal  home  at 
Cannes  Brulees. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  more  perfect  specimen  of 
Creole  pride  ?  That  is  the  way  with  all  of  them.  Show 
me  any  Creole,  or  any  number  of  Creoles,  in  any 'sort  of 
contest,  and  right  down  at  the  foundation  of  it  all,  I  will 
find  you  this  same  preposterous,  apathetic,  fantastic,  sui 
cidal  pride.  It  is  as  lethargic  and  ferocious  as  an  alligator. 
That  is  why  the  Creole  almost  always  is  (or  thinks  he  is) 
on  the  defensive.  See  these  De  Grapions'  haughty  good 
manners  to  old  Agricole  ;  yet  there  wasn't  a  Grandissime 
in  Louisiana  who  could  have  set  foot  on  the  De  Grapion 
lands  but  at  the  risk  of  his  life. 

"But  I  will  finish  the  story;  and  here  is  the  really 
sad  part.  Not  many  months  ago,  old  De  Grapion — 
'old,'  said  I;  they  don't  grow  old;  I  call  him  old — a 
few  months  ago  he  died.  He  must  have  left  everything 
smothered  in  debt ;  for,  like  his  race,  he  had  stuck  to  in 
digo  because  his  father  planted  it,  and  it  is  a  crop  that 
has  lost  money  steadily  for  years  and  years.  His  daugh 
ter  and  granddaughter  were  left  like  babes  in  the  wood ; 
and,  to  crown  their  disasters,  have  now  made  the  grave 
mistake  of  coming  to  the  city,  where  they  find  they 
haven't  a  friend — not  one,  sir  !  They  called  me  in  to 
prescribe  for  a  trivial  indisposition,  shortly  after  their 
arrival ;  and  I  tell  you,  Frowenfeld,  it  made  me  shiver 
to  see  two  such  beautiful  women  in  such  a  town  as  this 
without  a  male  protector,  and  even  " — the  doctor  low- 


LOST  OPPORTUNITIES.  41 

ered  his  voice — "  without  adequate  support.  The 
mother  says  they  are  perfectly  comfortable  ;  tells  the 
old  couple  so  who  took  them  to  the  ball,  and  whose  lit 
tle  girl  is  their  embroidery  scholar  ;  but  you  cannot  be 
lieve  a  Creole  on  that  subject,  and  I  don't  believe  her. 
Would  you  like  to  make  their  acquaintance  ?  " 

Frowenfeld  hesitated,  disliking  to  say  no  to  his  friend, 
and  then  shook  his  head. 

"  After  a  while— at  least  not  now,  sir,  if  you  please." 

The  doctor  made  a  gesture  of  disappointment. 

"  Um-hum,"  he  said  grumly — "  the  only  man  in  New 
Orleans  I  would  honor  with  an  invitation  ! — but  all  right ; 
I'll  go  alone." 

He  laughed  a  little  at  himself,  and  left  Frowenfeld,  if 
ever  he  should  desire  it,  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  his 
pretty  neighbors  as  best  he  could. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WAS   IT   HONORE   GRANDISSIME  ? 

A  CREOLE  gentleman,  on  horseback  one  morning 
with  some  practical  object  in  view, — drainage,  possibly, 
— had  got  what  he  sought, — the  evidence  of  his  own 
eyes  on  certain  points, — and  now  moved  quietly  across 
some  old  fields  toward  the  town,  where  more  absorbing 
interests  awaited  him  in  the  Rue  Toulouse  ;  for  this 
Creole  gentleman  was  a  merchant,  and  because  he  would 
presently  find  himself  among  the  appointments  and  re 
straints  of  the  counting-room,  he  heartily  gave  himself  up, 
for  the  moment,  to  the  surrounding  influences  of  nature. 

It  was  late  in  November  ;  but  the  air  was  mild  and 
the  grass  and  foliage  green  and  dewy.  Wild  flowers 
bloomed  plentifully  and  in  all  directions  ;  the  bushes 
were  hung,  and  often  covered,  with  vines  of  sprightly 
green,  sprinkled  thickly  with  smart-looking  little  worth 
less  berries,  whose  sparkling  complacency  the  combined 
contempt  of  man,  beast  and  bird  could  not  dim.  The 
call  of  the  field-lark  came  continually  out  of  the  grass, 
where  now  and  then  could  be  seen  his  yellow  breast  ; 
the  orchard  oriole  was  executing  his  fantasias  in  every 
tree  ;  coveys  of  partridges  ran  across  the  path  close  under 
the  horse's  feet,  and  stopped  to  look  back  almost  within 
reach  of  the  riding-whip  ;  clouds  of  starlings,  in  their 
odd,  irresolute  way,  rose  from  the  high  bulrushes  and 


WAS  IT  HO  NO  RE    GRANDISSIME?  43 

settled  again,  without  discernible  cause  ;  little  wander 
ing  companies  of  sparrows  undulated  from  hedge  to 
hedge  ;  a  great  rabbit-hawk  sat  alone  in  the  top  of  a 
lofty  pecan-tree  ;  that  petted  rowdy,  the  mocking-bird, 
dropped  down  into  the  path  to  offer  fight  to  the  horse, 
and,  failing  in  that,  flew  up  again  and  drove  a  crow  into 
ignominious  retirement  beyond  the  plain  ;  from  a  place 
of  flags  and  reeds  a  white  crane  shot  upward,  turned, 
and  then,  with  the  slow  and  stately  beat  peculiar  to  her 
wing,  sped  away  until,  against  the  tallest  cypress  of  the 
distant  forest,  she  became  a  tiny  white  speck  on  its 
black,  and  suddenly  disappeared,  like  one  flake  of  snow. 

The  scene  was  altogether  such  as  to  fill  any  hearty 
soul  with  impulses  of  genial  friendliness  and  gentle 
candor  ;  such  a  scene  as  will  sometimes  prepare  a  man 
of  the  world,  upon  the  least  direct  incentive,  to  throw 
open  the  windows  of  his  private  thought  with  a  freedom 
which  the  atmosphere  of  no  counting-room  or  drawing- 
room  tends  to  induce. 

The  young  merchant — he  was  young  —  felt  this. 
Moreover,  the  matter  of  business  which  had  brought  him 
out  had  responded  to  his  inquiring  eye  with  a  somewhat 
golden  radiance;  and  your  true  man  of  business — he 
who  has  reached  that  elevated  pitch  of  serene,  good- 
natured  reserve  which  is  of  the  high  art  of  his  calling- 
is  never  so  generous  with  his  pennyworths  of  thought  as 
when  newly  in  possession  of  some  little  secret  worth 
many  pounds. 

By  and  by  the  behavior  of  the  horse  indicated  the 
near  presence  of  a  stranger  ;  and  the  next  moment  the 
rider  drew  rein  under  an  immense  live-oak  where  there 
was  a  bit  of  paling  about  some  graves,  and  raised  his  hat. 

"  Good-mawning,  seh."     But  for  the  silent  r's,   his 


44  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

pronunciation  was  exact,  yet  evidently  an  acquired  one. 
While  he  spoke  his  salutation  in  English,  he  was  think- 
in  French  :  "  Without  doubt,  this  rather  oversized, 
bare  headed,  interrupted-looking  convalescent  who  stands 
before  me,  wondering  how  I  should  know  in  what 
language  to  address  him,  is  Joseph  Frowenfeld,  of  whom 
Doctor  Keene  has  had  so  much  to  say  to  me.  A  good 
face — unsophisticated,  but  intelligent,  mettlesome  and 
honest.  He  will  make  his  mark ;  it  will  probably  be  a 
white  one  ;  I  will  subscribe  to  the  adventure." 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  seh  ?  "  he  asked  after  a  pause, 
dismounting,  and  noticing,  as  he  did  so,  that  Frowen- 
feld's  knees  showed  recent  contact  with  the  turf;  "  I 
have,  myself,  some  interhest  in  two  of  these  grhaves, 
seh,  as  I  suppose — you  will  pahdon  my  freedom — you 
have  in  the  otheh  fo'." 

He  approached  the  old  but  newly  whitened  paling, 
which  encircled  the  tree's  trunk  as  well  as  the  six  graves 
about  it.  There  was  in  his  face  and  manner  a  sort  of 
impersonal  human  kindness,  well  calculated  to  engage 
a  diffident  and  sensitive  stranger,  standing  in  dread  of 
gratuitous  benevolence  or  pity. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  convalescent,  and  ceased  ;  but  the 
other  leaned  against  the  palings  in  an  attitude  of  atten 
tion,  and  he  felt  induced  to  add  :  "  I  have  buried  here 
my  father,  mother  and  two  sisters," — he  had  expected 
to  continue  in  an  unemotional  tone  ;  but  a  deep  respir 
ation  usurped  the  place  of  speech.  He  stooped  quickly 
to  pick  up  his  hat,  and,  as  he  rose  again  and  looked  into 
his  listener's  face,  the  respectful,  unobtrusive  sympathy 
there  expressed  went  directly  to  his  heart. 

"  Victims  of  the  feveh,"  said  the  Creole  with  great 
gravity.  "  How  did  that  happen  ?  " 


WAS   IT  HONOR  E    GRANDISSIME  ?  45 

As  Frowenfeld,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  began  to 
speak,  the  stranger  let  go  the  bridle  of  his  horse  and  sat 
down  upon  the  turf.  Joseph  appreciated  the  courtesy 
and  sat  down,  too  ;  and  thus  the  ice  was  broken. 

The  immigrant  told  his  story  ;  he  was  young— often 
younger  than  his  years — and  his  listener  several  years 
his  senior  ;  but  the  Creole,  true  to  his  blood,  was  able  at 
any  time  to  make  himself  as  young  as  need  be,  and 
possessed  the  rare  magic  of  drawing  one's  confidence 
without  seeming  to  do  more  than  merely  pay  attention. 
It  followed  that  the  story  was  told  in  full  detail,  including 
grateful  acknowledgment  of  the  goodness  of  an  unknown 
friend,  who  had  granted  this  burial-place  on  condition 
that  he  should  not  be  sought  out  for  the  purpose  of 
thanking  him. 

So  a  considerable  time  passed  by,  in  which  acquain 
tance  grew  with  delightful  rapidity. 

"  What  will  you  do  now  ?  "  asked  the  stranger,  when 
a  short  silence  had  followed  the  conclusion  of  the  story. 

"  I  hardly  know.  I  am  taken  somewhat  by  surprise. 
I  have  not  chosen  a  definite  course  in  life — as  yet.  I 
have  been  a  general  student,  but  have  not  prepared  my 
self  for  any  profession  ;  I  am  not  sure  what  I  shall 
be." 

A  certain  energy  in  the  immigrant's  face  half  redeemed 
this  child-like  speech.  Yet  the  Creole's  lips,  as  he 
opened  them  to  reply,  betrayed  amusement ;  so  he 
hastened  to  say  : 

"  I  apprheciateyo'  position,  Mr.  Frhowenfeld, — excuse 
me,  I  believe  you  said  that  was  yo'  fatha's  name.  And 
yet," — the  shadow  of  an  amused  smile  lurked  another 
instant  about  a  corner  of  his  mouth, — "  if  you  would 
unde'stand  me  kindly  I  would  say,  take  ca'e  "- 


46  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

What  little  blood  the  convalescent  had  rushed  violently 
to  his  face,  and  the  Creole  added  : 

"  I  do  not  insinuate  you  would  willingly  be  idle.  I 
think  I  know  what  you  want.  You  want  to  make  up  yo' 
mind  now  what  you  will  do,  and  at  yo'  leisu'e  what  you 
will  be  ;  eh  ?  To  be,  it  seems  to  me,"  he  said  in  sum 
ming  up , — ' '  that  to  be  is  not  so  necessarily  as  to  do,  eh  ? 
or-h  am  I  wrhong  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Joseph,  still  red,  "  I  was  feeling 
that  just  now.  I  will  do  the  first  thing  that  offers  ;  I  can 
dig." 

The  Creole  shrugged  and  pouted. 

"  And  be  called  a  dos  brJiilce — a  '  burnt-back.'  " 

"But" began  the  immigrant,  with  overmuch 

warmth. 

The  other  interrupted  him  shaking  his  head  slowly, 
and  smiling  as  he  spoke. 

"  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,  it  is  of  no  use  to  talk  ;  you  may 
hold  in  contempt  the  Crheole  sco'n  of  toil — just  as  I  do, 
myself,  but  in  theorhy,  my-de'-seh,  not  tpo  much  in  prhac- 
ticc.  You  cannot  affo'd  to  be  enticly  differhent  to  the 
community  in  which  you  live  ;  is  that  not  so  ?  " 

"  A  friend  of  mine,"  said  Frowenfeld,  "  has  told  me  I 
must  '  compromise.'  ' 

"  You  must  get  acclimated,"  responded  the  Creole  ; 
"  not  in  body  only,  that  you  have  done  ;  but  in  mind — 
in  taste — in  conve'sation — and  in  convictions  too,  yes,  ha, 
ha  !  They  all  do  it — all  who  come.  They  hold  out  a 
little  while — a  verhy  little  ;  then  they  open  thei'  sto'es 
on  Sunday,  they  impo't  cahgoes  of  Afrhicans,  they  brhibe 
the  officials,  they  smuggle  goods,  they  have  colo'd 
housckeepe's.  My-de'-seh,  the  vvata  must  expect  to  take 
the  shape  of  the  bucket  ;  eh  ?  " 


WAS  IT  HONORt    GRANDISSIME?  47 

"  One  need  not  be  water  !  "  said  the  immigrant. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  Creole,  with  another  amiable  shrug, 
and  a  wave  of  his  hand  ;  "  cettainly  you  do  not  suppose 
that  is  my  advice — that  those  things  have  my  apprhoval. " 

Must  we  repeat  already  that  Frowenfeld  was  abnor 
mally  young  ? 

"  Why  have  they  not  your  condemnation  ?  "  cried 
he  with  an  earnestness  that  made  the  Creole's  horse 
drop  the  grass  from  his  teeth  and  wheel  half  around. 

The  answer  came  slowly  and  gently. 

"  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,  my  habit  is  to  buy  cheap  and  sell 
at  a  prhofit.  My  condemnation  ?  My-de'-seh,  there-h 
is  no  sa-a-ale  for-hit  !  it  spoils  the  sale  of  otheh  goods, 
my-de'-seh.  It  is  not  to  condemn  that  you  want  ;  you 
want  to  suc-cecd.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  you  see  I  am  a  mehchant, 
eh  ?  My-de'-seh,  can  you>  affo'd  not  to  succeed  ?  " 

The  speaker  had  grown  very  much  in  earnest  in  the 
course  of  these  few  words,  and  as  he  asked  the  closing 
question,  arose,  arranged  his  horse's  bridle  and  with  his 
elbow  in  the  saddle,  leaned  his  handsome  head  on  his 
equally  beautiful  hand.  His  whole  appearance  was  a 
dazzling  contradiction  of  the  notion  that  a  Creole  is  a 
person  of  mixed  blood. 

"  I  think  I  can  !  "  replied  the  convalescent,  with  much 
spirit,  rising  with  more  haste  than  was  good,  and  stag 
gering  a  moment. 

The  horseman  laughed  outright. 

"  Yo'  prhinciple  is  the  best,  I  cannot  dispute  that; 
but  whetheh  you  can  act  it  out — rhefo'me's  do  not  make 
money,  you  know."  He  examined  his  saddle-girth  and 
began  to  tighten  it.  "  One  can  condemn — too  cautiously 
— by  a  kind  of — elevated  cowa'dice  (I  have  that  fault) ; 
but  one  can  also  condemn  too  rhashly  ;  I  rhemembeh 


43  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

when  I  did  so.  One  of  the  occupants  of  those  two 
grhaves  you  see  yondeh  side  by  side — I  think  might 
have  lived  longer-h  if  I  had  no  spoken  so  rhashly  for-h 
'is  rhights.  Did  you  evva  hear-h  of  Brhas-Coupe,  Mr. 
Frhowenfcld  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  only  the  name." 

"Ah!  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,  there  was  a  bold  man's 
chance  to  denounce  wrhong  and  opprhession  !  Why, 
that  negrho's  death  changed  the  whole  channel  of  my 
convictions." 

The  speaker  had  turned  and  thrown  up  his  arm  with 
frowning  earnestness  ;  he  dropped  it  and  smiled  at  him 
self. 

"  Do  not  mistake  me  for  one  of  yo'  new-fashioned 
Philadelphia  '  negrhophiles  '  /  I  am  a  mehchant,  my-de'- 
seh,  a  good  subject  of  His  Catholic  Majesty,  a  Crheole 
of  the  Crheoles,  and  so  fo'th,  and  so  fo'th.  Come  !  " 

He  slapped  the  saddle. 

To  have  seen  and  heard  them  a  little  later  as  they 
moved  toward  the  city,  the  Creole  walking  before  the 
horse,  and  Frowenfeld  sitting  in  the  saddle,  you  might 
have  supposed  them  old  acquaintances.  Yet  the  immi 
grant  was  wondering  who  his  companion  might  be. 
He  had  not  introduced  himself — seemed  to  think  that 
even  an  immigrant  might  know  his  name  without  ask 
ing.  Was  it  Honore  Grandissime?  Joseph  was  tempted 
to  guess  so  ;  but  the  initials  inscribed  on  the  silver- 
mounted  pommel  of  the  fine  old  Spanish  saddle  did  not 
bear  out  that  conjecture. 

The  stranger  talked  freely.  The  sun's  rays  seemed  to 
set  all  the  sweetness  in  him  a-working,  and  his  pleasant 
worldly  wisdom  foamed  up  and  out  like  fermenting 
honey. 


WAS  IT  HONORE    GRAND1SSIME?  49 

By  and  by  the  way  led  through  a  broad,  grassy  lane 
where  the  path  turned  alternately  to  right  and  left 
among  some  wild  acacias.  The  Creole  waved  his  hand 
toward  one  of  them  and  said  : 

"Now,  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,  you  see?  one  man  walks 
where-h  'e  sees  anothe's  trhack  ;  that  is  what  makes  a 
path  ;  but  you  want  a'man,  instead  of  passing  arhound 
this  prhickly  bush,  to  lay  hold  of  it  with  his  naked  hands 
and  pull  it  up  by  the  rhoots." 

"But  a  man  armed  with  the  truth  is  far  from  being 
bare-handed,"  replied  the  convalescent,  and  they  went 
on,  more  and  more  interested  at  every  step, — one  in 
this  very  raw  imported  material  for  an  excellent  man, 
the  other  in  so  striking  an  exponent  of  a  unique  land 
and  people. 

They  came  at  length  to  the  crossing  of  two  streets,  and 
the  Creole,  pausing  in  his  speech,  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
bridle. 

Frowenfeld  dismounted. 

"  Do  we  paht  yeh  ?  "  asked  the  Creole.  "  Well,  Mr. 
Frhowenfeld,  I  hope  to  meet  you  soon  again." 

"  Indeed,  I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Joseph,  "  and  I  hope 
we  shall,  although " 

The  Creole  paused  with  a  foot  in  the  stirrup  and  in 
terrupted  him  with  a  playful  gesture  ;  then  as  the  horse 
stirred,  he  mounted  and  drew  in  the  rein. 

"  I  know  ;  you  want  to  say  you  cannot  accept  my  phi 
losophy  and  I  cannot  apprheciate  yo's  ;  but  I  apprhe- 
ciate  it  mo'  than  you  think,  my-de'-seh." 

The  convalescent's  smile  showed  much  fatigue. 

The  Creole  extended  his  hand ;   the  immigrant  seized 
it,  wished  to  ask  his  name,  but  did  not ;  and  the  next 
moment  he  was  gone. 
3 


$O  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

The  convalescent  walked  meditatively  toward  his 
quarters,  with  a  faint  feeling  of  having  been  found  asleep 
on  duty,  and  awakened  by  a  passing  stranger.  It  was 
an  unpleasant  feeling,  and  he  caught  himself  more  than 
once  shaking  his  head.  He  stopped,  at  length,  and 
looked  back  ;  but  the  Creole  was  long  since  out  of  sight. 
The  mortified  self-accuser  little  knew  how  very  similar 
a  feeling  that  vanished  person  was  carrying  away  with 
him.  He  turned  and  resumed  his  walk,  wondering  who 
Monsieur  might  be,  and  a  little  impatient  with  himself 
that  he  had  not  asked. 

"  It  is  Honore  Grandissime  ;  it  must  be  he  !  "  he  said. 

Yet  see  how  soon  he  felt  obliged  to  change  his  mind. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

SIGNED  — HONORE    GRANDISSIME. 

ON  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day,  having  decided 
what  he  would  "do,"  he  started  out  in  search  of  new 
quarters.  He  found  nothing  then,  but  next  morning 
came  upon  a  small,  single-story  building  in  the  rue 
Royale, — corner  of  Conti, — which  he  thought  would 
suit  his  plans.  There  were  a  door  and  show-window  in 
the  rue  Royale,  two  doors  in  the  intersecting  street,  and 
a  small  apartment  in  the  rear  which  would  answer  for 
sleeping,  eating,  and  studying  purposes,  and  which  con 
nected  with  the  front  apartment  by  a  door  in  the  left- 
hand  corner.  This  connection  he  would  partially  con 
ceal  by  a  prescription-desk.  A  counter  would  run 
lengthwise  toward  the  rue  Royale,  along  the  wall  oppo 
site  the  side-doors.  Such  was  the  spot  that  soon  became 
known  as  "  Frowenfeld's  Corner." 

The  notice  "A  Louer"  directed  him  to  inquire  at 
numero  — ,  rue  Conde.  Here  he  was  ushered  through 
the  wicket  of  a  porte  cochcre  into  a  broad,  paved  corri 
dor,  and  up  a  stair  into  a  large,  cool  room,  and  into  the 
presence  of  a  man  who  seemed,  in  some  respects,  the 
most  remarkable  figure  he  had  yet  seen  in  this  little  city 
of  strange  people.  A  strong,  clear,  olive  complexion  ; 
features  that  were  faultless  (unless  a  woman-like  delicacy, 
that  was  yet  not  effeminate,  was  a  fault)  ;  hair  en  quctie, 


52  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

the  handsomer  for  its  premature  streakings  of  gray  ;  a 
tall,  well  knit  form,  attired  in  cloth,  linen  and  leather 
of  the  utmost  fineness  ;  manners  Castilian,  with  a  gravity 
almost  oriental, — made  him  one  of  those  rare  masculine 
figures  which,  on  the  public  promenade,  men  look  back 
at  and  ladies  inquire  about. 

Now,  who  might  this  be  ?  The  rent  poster  had  given 
no  name.  Even  the  incurious  Frowenfeld  would  fain 
guess  a  little.  For  a  man  to  be  just  of  this  sort,  it 
seemed  plain  that  he  must  live  in  an  isolated  ease  upon 
the  unceasing  droppings  of  coupons,  rents,  and  like  re 
ceivables.  Such  was  the  immigrant's  first  conjecture  ; 
and,  as  with  slow,  scant  questions  and  answers  they 
made  their  bargain,  every  new  glance  strengthened  it ; 
he  was  evidently  a  rentier.  What,  then,  was  his  aston 
ishment  when  Monsieur  bent  down  and  made  himself 
Frowenfeld's  landlord,  by  writing  what  the  universal 
mind  esteemed  the  synonym  of  enterprise  and  activity — 
the  name  of  Honor6  Grandissime.  The  landlord  did  not 
see,  or  ignored,  his  tenant's  glance  of  surprise,  and  the 
tenant  asked  no  questions. 

We  may  add  here  an  incident  which  seemed,  when  it 
took  place,  as  unimportant  as  a  single  fact  well  could  be. 

The  little  sum  that  Frowenfeld  had  inherited  from  his 
father  had  been  sadly  depleted  by  the  expenses  of  four 
funerals  ;  yet  he  was  still  able  to  pay  a  month's  rent  in 
advance,  to  supply  his  shop  with  a  scant  stock  of  drugs, 
to  purchase  a  celestial  globe  and  some  scientific  appara 
tus,  and  to  buy  a  dinner  or  two  of  sausages  and  crack 
ers  ;  but  after  this  there  was  no  necessity  of  hiding  his 
purse. 

His  landlord  early  contracted  a  fondness  for  dropping 


SIGNED— HONORS    GRANDISSIMME.  53 

in  upon  him,  and  conversing  with  him,  as  best  the  few 
and  labored  English  phrases  at  his  command  would 
allow.  Frowenfeld  soon  noticed  that  he  never  entered 
the  shop  unless  its  proprietor  was  alone,  never  sat  down, 
and  always,  with  the  same  perfection  of  dignity  that 
characterized  all  his  movements,  departed  immediately 
upon  the  arrival  of  any  third  person.  One  day,  when 
the  landlord  was  making  one  of  these  standing  calls, — 
he  always  stood  beside  a  high  glass  case,  on  the  side  of 
the  shop  opposite  the  counter, — he  noticed  in  Joseph's 
hand  a  sprig  of  basil,  and  spoke  of  it. 

"You  ligue?" 

The  tenant  did  not  understand. 

"  You— find— dad-nize  ?  " 

Frowenfeld  replied  that  it  had  been  left  by  the  over 
sight  of  a  customer,  and  expressed  a  liking  for  its  odor. 

"Ah  sane  you,"  said  the  landlord, — a  speech  whose 
meaning  Frowenfeld  was  not  sure  of  until  the  next 
morning,  when  a  small,  nearly  naked,  black  boy,  who 
could  not  speak  a  word  of  English,  brought  to  the  apoth 
ecary  a  luxuriant  bunch  of  this  basil,  growing  in  a 
rough  box. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ILLUSTRATING  THE   TRACTIVE   POWER   OF    BASIL. 

ON  the  twenty-fourth  day  of  December,  1803,  at  two 
o'clock,  P.  M.,  the  thermometer  standing  at  79,  hygro 
meter  17,  barometer  29.880,  sky  partly  clouded,  Avind 
west,  light,  the  apothecary  of  the  rue  Royale,  now  some 
thing  more  than  a  month  established  in  his  calling, 
might  have  been  seen  standing  behind  his  counter  and 
beginning  to  show  embarrassment  in  the  presence  of  a 
lady,  who,  since  she  had  got  her  prescription  filled  and 
had  paid  for  it,  ought  in  the  conventional  course  of  things 
to  have  hurried  out,  followed  by  the  pathetically  ugly 
black  woman  who  tarried  at  the  door  as  her  attendant ;  for 
to  be  in  an  apothecary  shop  at  all  was  unconventional. 
She  was  heavily  veiled  ;  but  the  sparkle  of  her  eyes, 
which  no  multiplication  of  veils  could  quite  extinguish, 
her  symmetrical  and  well-fitted  figure,  just  escaping 
smallness,  her  grace  of  movement,  and  a  soft,  joyous 
voice,  had  several  days  before  led  Frowenfeld  to  the 
confident  conclusion  that  she  was  young  and  beautiful. 

For  this  was  now  the  third  time  she  had  come  to  buy  ; 
and,  though  the  purchases  were  unaccountably  trivial,  the 
purchaser  seemed  not  so.  On  the  two  previous  occasions 
she  had  been  accompanied  by  a  slender  girl,  somewhat 
taller  than  she,  veiled  also,  of  graver  movement,  a  bear 
ing  that  seemed  to  Joseph  almost  too  regal,  and  a  dis- 


ILL  USTRA  TING  THE  TRA  CTIVE  PO IVER  OF  BASIL.      5  5 

cernible  unwillingness  to  enter  or  tarry.  There  seemed 
a  certain  family  resemblance  between  her  voice  and  that 
of  the  other,  that  proclaimed  them — he  incautiously 
assumed — sisters.  This  time,  as  we  see,  the  smaller,  and 
probably  elder,  came  alone. 

She  still  held  m  her  hand  the  small  silver  which 
Frowenfeld  had  given  her  in  change,  and  sighed  after 
the  laugh  they  had  just  enjoyed  together  over  a  slip  in 
her  English.  A  very  grateful  sip  of  sweet  the  laugh  was 
to  the  all  but  friendless  apothecary,  and  the  embarrass 
ment  that  rushed  in  after  it  may  have  arisen  in  part  from  a 
conscious  casting  about  in  his  mind  for  something — any 
thing — that  might  prolong  her  stay  an  instant.  He 
opened  his  lips  to  speak  ;  but  she  was  quicker  than  he, 
and  said,  in  a  stealthy  way  that  seemed  oddly  un 
necessary  : 

"  You  'ave  some  basilic  ?  " 

She  accompanied  her  words  with  a  little  peeping 
movement,  directing  his  attention,  through  the  open 
door,  to  his  box  of  basil,  on  the  floor  in  the  rear  room. 

Frowenfeld  stepped  back  to  it,  cut  half  the  bunch, 
and  returned,  with  the  bold  intention  of  making  her  a 
present  of  it ;  but  as  he  hastened  back  to  the  spot  he 
had  left,  he  was  astonished  to  see  the  lady  disappearing 
from  his  farthest  front  door,  followed  by  her  negress. 

"  Did  she  change  her  mind,  or  did  she  misunderstand 
me  ?"  he  asked  himself;  and,  in  the  hope  that  she 
might  return  for  the  basil,  he  put  it  in  water  in  his  back 
room. 

The  day  being,  as  the  figures  have  already  shown,  an 
unusually  mild  one,  even  for  a  Louisiana  December,  and 
the  finger  of  the  clock  drawing  by  and  by  toward  the 
last  hour  of  sunlight,  some  half  dozen  of  Frowenfeld's 


56  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

townsmen  had  gathered,  inside  and  out,  some  standing, 
some  sitting,  about  his  front  door,  and  all  discussing  the 
popular  topics  of  the  day.  For  it  might  have  been 
anticipated  that,  in  a  city  where  so  very  little  English 
was  spoken  and  no  newspaper  published  except  that 
beneficiary  of  eighty  subscribers,  the  "  Moniteur  de  la 
Louisiane,"  the  apothecary  shop  in  the  rue  Royale 
would  be  the  rendezvous  for  a  select  company  of 
English-speaking  gentlemen,  with  a  smart  majority  of 
physicians. 

The  Cession  had  become  an  accomplished  fact.  With 
due  drum-beatings  and  act-reading,  flag-raising,  cannon 
ading  and  galloping  of  aides-de-camp,  Nouvelle  Orleans 
had  become  New  Orleans,  and  Louisiane  was  Louisiana. 
This  afternoon,  the  first  week  of  American  jurisdiction 
was  only  something  over  half  gone,  and  the  main  topic 
of  public  debate  was  still  the  Cession.  Was  it  genuine  ? 
and,  if  so,  would  it  stand  ? 

"  Mark  my  words,"  said  one,  "  the  British  flag  will 
be  floating  over  this  town  within  ninety  days  !  "  and  he 
went  on  whittling  the  back  of  his  chair. 

From  this  main  question,  the  conversation  branched 
out  to  the  subject  of  land  titles.  Would  that  great 
majority  of  Spanish  titles  derived  from  the  concessions  of 
post-commandants  and  others  of  minor  authority,  hold 
good  ? 

"  I  suppose  you  know  what thinks  about  it  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Well,  he  has  quietly  purchased  the  grant  made  by 

Carondelet  to  the  Marquis  of ,  thirty  thousand  acres, 

and  now  says  the  grant  is  two  hundred  and  thirty  thou 
sand.  That  is  one  style  of  men  Governor  Claiborne  is 
going  to  have  on  his  hands.  The  town  will  presently  be 


ILLUSTRATING  THE  TRACTIVE  POWER  OF  BASIL.      S7 

as  full  of  them  as  my  pocket  is  of  tobacco  crumbs, — 
every  one  of  them  with  a  Spanish  grant  as  long  as  Clark's 
rope-walk,  and  made  up  since  the  rumor  of  the  Cession." 

"  I  hear  that  some  of  Honore  Grandissime's  titles  are 
likely  to  turn  out  bad, — some  of  the  old  Brahmin  pro 
perties  and  some  of  the  Mandarin  lands." 

"  Fudge  !  "  said  Doctor  Keene. 

There  was  also  the  subject  of  rotation  in  office.  Would 
this  provisional  governor-general  himself  be  able  to  stand 
fast  ?  Had  not  a  man  better  temporize  a  while,  and  see 
what  Ex  Governor- general  Casa  Calvo  andTrudeau  were 
going  to  do  ?  Would  not  men  who  sacrificed  old  pre 
judices,  braved  the  popular  contumely,  and  came  forward 
and  gave  in  their  allegiance  to  the  President's  appointee, 
have  to  take  the  chances  of  losing  their  official  positions 
at  last  ?  Men  like  Camille  Brahmin,  for  instance,  or 
Charlie  Mandarin  :  suppose  Spain  or  France  should 
get  the  province  back,  then  where  would  they  be  ? 

"  One  of  the  things  I  pity  most  in  this  vain  world," 
drawled  Doctor  Keene,  "  is  a  hive  of  patriots  who  don't 
know  where  to  swarm." 

The  apothecary  was  drawn  into  the  discussion — at 
least  he  thought  he  was.  Inexperience  is  apt  to  think 
that  Truth  will  be  knocked  down  and  murdered  unless 
she  comes  to  the  rescue.  Somehow,  Frowenfeld's 
really  excellent  arguments  seemed  to  give  out  more  heat 
than  light.  They  were  merciless  ;  their  principles  were 
not  only  lofty  to  dizziness,  but  precipitous,  and  their 
heights  unoccupied,  and — to  the  common  sight — un 
attainable.  In  consequence,  they  provoked  hostility 
and  even  resentment.  With  the  kindest,  the  most 
honest,  and  even  the  most  modest,  intentions,  he  found 
himself — to  his  bewilderment  and  surprise — sniffed  at  by 
3* 


58  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

the  ungenerous,  frowned  upon  by  the  impatient,  and 
smiled  down  by  the  good-natured  in  a  manner  that 
brought  sudden  blushes  of  exasperation  to  his  face,  and 
often  made  him  ashamed  to  find  himself  going  over  these 
sham  battles  again  in  much  savageness  of  spirit,  when 
alone  with  his  books  ;  or,  in  moments  of  weakness,  cast 
ing  about  for  such  unworthy  weapons  as  irony  and  satire. 
In  the  present  debate,  he  had  just  provoked  a  sneer  that 
made  his  blood  leap  and  his  friends  laugh,  when  Doctor 
Keene,  suddenly  rising  and  beckoning  across  the  street, 
exclaimed  : 

"  Oh  !  Agricole  !  Agricole  !  vcncz  ici ;  we  want  you." 

A  murmur  of  vexed  protest  arose  from  two  or  three. 

"  He's  coming,"  said  the  whittler,  who  had  also 
beckoned. 

"  Good  evening,  Citizen  Fusilier,"  said  Doctor  Keene. 
"  Citizen  Fusilier,  allow  me  to  present  my  friend,  Pro 
fessor  Frowenfeld — yes,  you  are  a  professor — yes,  you 
are.  He  is  one  of  your  sort,  Citizen  Fusilier,  a  man  of 
thorough  scientific  education.  I  believe  on  my  soul, 
sir,  he  knows  nearly  as  much  as  you  do  !  " 

The  person  who  confronted  the  apothecary  was  a 
large,  heavily  built,  but  well  molded  and  vigorous  man, 
of  whom  one  might  say  that  he  was  adorned  with  old 
age.  His  brow  was  dark,  and  furrowed  partly  by  time 
and  partly  by  a  persistent  ostentatious  frown.  His  eyes 
were  large,  black,  and  bold,  and  the  gray  locks  above 
them  curled  short  and  harsh  like  the  front  of  a  bull. 
His  nose  was  fine  and  strong,  and  if  there  was  any 
deficiency  in  mouth  or  chin,  it  was  hidden  by  a  beard 
that  swept  down  over  his  broad  breast  like  the  beard  of 
a  prophet.  In  his  dress,  which  was  noticeably  soiled, 
the  fashions  of  three  decades  were  hinted  at ;  he  seemed 


ILL  US  TRA  TING  THE  T£A  C  TIVE  PO  WER  OF  BASIL.       5  9 

to  have  donned  whatever  he  thought  his  friends  would 
most  have  liked  him  to  leave  off. 

"  Professor,"  said  the  old  man,  extending  something 
like  the  paw  of  a  lion,  and  giving  Frowenfeld  plenty  of 
time  to  become  thoroughly  awed,  "  this  is  a  pleasure  as 
magnificent  as  unexpected  !  A  scientific  man  ? — in 
Louisiana  ?  "  He  looked  around  upon  the  doctors  as 
upon  a  graduating  class.  "  Professor,  I  am  rejoiced  !  " 
He  paused  again,  shaking  the  apothecary's  hand  with 
great  ceremony.  "  I  do  assure  you,  sir,  I  dislike  to  re 
linquish  your  grasp.  Do  me  the  honor  to  allow  me  to 
become  your  friend  !  I  congratulate  my  down-trodden 
country  on  the  acquisition  of  such  a  citizen  !  I  hope,  sir, 
• — at  least  I  might  have  hoped,  had  not  Louisiana  just 
passed  into  the  hands  of  the  most  clap-trap  government 
in  the  universe,  notwithstanding  it  pretends  to  be  a 
republic, — I  might  have  hoped  that  you  had  come 
among  us  to  fasten  the  lie  direct  upon  a  late  author, 
who  writes  of  us  that  '  the  air  of  this  region  is  deadly  to 
the  Muses.' ' 

"  He  didn't  say  that  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  debaters,  with 
pretended  indignation. 

"  He  did,  sir,  after  eating  our  bread  !  " 

"And  sucking  our  sugar-cane,  too,  no  doubt  !  "  said 
the  wag  ;  but  the  old  man  took  no  notice. 

Frowenfeld,  naturally,  was  not  anxious  to  reply,  and 
was  greatly  relieved  to  be  touched  on  the  elbow  by  a 
child  with  a  picayune  in  one  hand  and  a  tumbler  in 
the  other.  He  escaped  behind  the  counter  and  gladly 
remained  there. 

"  Citizen  Fusilier,"  asked  one  of  the  gossips,  "what 
has  the  new  government  to  do  with  the  health  of  the 
Muses  ?  " 


6O  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  It  introduces  the  English  tongue,"  said  the  old  man 
scowling. 

"Oh,  well,"  replied  the  questioner,  "the  Creoles  will 
soon  learn  the  language." 

"  English  is  not  a  language,  sir  ;  it  is  a  jargon  !  And 
when  this  young  simpleton,  Claiborne,  attempts  to  cram 
it  down  the  public  windpipe  in  the  courts,  as  I  under 
stands  he  intends,  he  will  fail  !  Hah  !  sir,  I  know  men 
in  this  city  who  would  rather  eat  a  dog  than  speak 
English  !  /speak  it,  but  I  also  speak  Choctaw. " 

"  The  new  land  titles  will  be  in  English." 

"They  will  spurn  his  rotten  titles.  And  if  he  at 
tempts  to  invalidate  their  old  ones,  why,  let  him  do  it  ! 
Napoleon  Buonaparte "  (Italian  pronunciation)  "  will 
make  good  every  arpent  within  the  next  two  years. 
Think  so?  I  know  it !  How?  H-I  perceive  it  !  H-I 
hope  the  yellow  fever  may  spare  you  to  witness  it." 

A  sullen  grunt  from  the  circle  showed  the  "citizen" 
that  he  had  presumed  too  much  upon  the  license  com 
monly  accorded  his  advanced  age,  and  by  way  of  a 
diversion  he  looked  around  for  Frowenfeld  to  pour  new 
flatteries  upon.  But  Joseph,  behind  his  counter,  un 
aware  of  either  the  offense  or  the  resentment,  was  blush 
ing  with  pleasure  before  a  visitor  who  had  entered  by 
the  side  door  farthest  from  the  company. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Agricola,  "  h-my  dear  friends,  you 
must  not  expect  an  old  Creole  to  like  anything  in  com 
parison  with  la  belle  langue" 

"Which  language  do  you  call  la  belle?'  asked 
Doctor  Keene,  with  pretended  simplicity. 

The  old  man  bent  upon  him  a  look  of  unspeakable 
contempt,  which  nobody  noticed.  The  gossips  were 
one  by  one  stealing  a  glance  toward  that  which  ever 


ILL  USTRA  TING  THE  TRACTIVE  PO  WER  OF  BASIL.      6 1 

was,  is  and  must  be,  an  irresistible  lodestone  to  the 
eyes  of  all  the  sons  of  Adam,  to  wit,  a  chaste  and  grace 
ful  complement  of — skirts.  Then  in  a  lower  tone  they 
resumed  their  desultory  conversation. 

It  was  the  seeker  after  basil  who  stood  before  the 
counter,  holding  in  her  hand,  with  her  purse,  the  heavy 
veil  whose  folds  had  before  concealed  her  features. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  OO   DAD   IS,    'SIEUR   FROWEXFEL'  ?  " 

WHETHER  the  removal  of  the  veil  was  because  of  the 
milder  light  of  the  evening,  or  the  result  of  accident,  or 
of  haste,  or  both,  or  whether,  by  reason  of  some  exciting 
or  absorbing  course  of  thought,  the  wearer  had  with 
drawn  it  unconsciously,  was  a  matter  that  occupied  the 
apothecary  as  little  as  did  Agricola's  continued  harangue. 
As  he  looked  upon  the  fair  face  through  the  light  gauze 
which  still  overhung  but  not  obscured  it,  he  readily  per 
ceived,  despite  the  sprightly  smile,  something  like  dis 
tress,  and  as  she  spoke  this  became  still  more  evident 
in  her  hurried  undertone. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  I  want  you  to  sell  me  doze 
basilic." 

As  she  slipped  the  rings  of  her  purse  apart  her  fingers 
.trembled. 

"It  is  waiting  for  you,"  said  Frowenfeld  ;  but  the 
lady  did  not  hear  him  ;  she  was  giving  her  attention 
to  the  loud  voice  of  Agricola  saying  in  the  course  of 
discussion  : 

"The  Louisiana  Creole  is  the  noblest  variety  of  en 
lightened  man  !  " 

"  Oo  dad  is,  'Sicur  Frowenfel'?"  she  asked,  softly, 
but  with  an  excited  eye. 

"That  is  Mr.  Agricola  Fusilier,"  answered  Joseph  in 


"  00  DAD  IS,   'SIEUR  FROWENFEL"1  ?"  63 

the  same  tone,  his  heart  leaping  inexplicably  as  he  met 
her  glance.  With  an  angry  flush  she  looked  quickly 
around,  scrutinized  the  old  man  in  an  instantaneous, 
thorough  way,  and  then  glanced  back  at  the  apothecary 
again,  as  if  asking  him  to  fulfil  her  request  the  quicker. 

He  hesitated,  in  doubt  as  to  her  meaning. 

"  Wrap  it  yonder,"  she  almost  whispered. 

He  went,  and  in  a  moment  returned,  with  the  basil 
only  partially  hid  in  a  paper  covering. 

But  the  lady,  muffled  again  in  her  manifold  veil  had 
once  more  lost  her  eagerness  for  it  ;  at  least,  instead  of 
taking  it,  she  moved  aside,  offering  room  for  a  masculine 
figure  just  entering.  She  did  not  look  to  see  who  it 
might  be — plenty  of  time  to  do  that  by  accident,  tjy  and 
by.  There  she  made  a  mistake  ;  for  the  new-comer, 
with  a  silent  bow  of  thanks,  declined  the  place  made 
for  him,  moved  across  the  shop,  and  occupied  his  eyes 
with  the  contents  of  the  glass  case,  his  back  being 
turned  to  the  lady  and  Frowenfeld.  The  apothecary 
recognized  the  Creole  whom  he  had  met  under  the  live- 
oak. 

The  lady  put  forth  her  hand  suddenly  to  receive  the 
package.  As  she  took  it  and  turned  to  depart,  another 
small  hand  was  laid  upon  it  and  it  was  returned  to  the 
counter.  Something  was  said  in  a  low-pitched  under 
tone,  and  the  two  sisters — if  Frowenfeld's  guess  was 
right — confronted  each  other.  For  a  single  instant  only 
they  stood  so  ;  an  earnest  and  hurried  murmur  of  French 
words  passed  between  them,  and  they  turned  together, 
bowed  with  great  suavity,  and  were  gone. 

"The  Cession  is  a  mere  temporary  political  manreu- 
vre  !  "  growled  M.  Fusilier. 

Frowenfeld's  merchant  friend  came  from  his  place  of 


64  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

waiting,  and  spoke  twice  before  he  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  bewildered  apothecary. 

"  Good-day,  Mr.  Frhowenfeld ;  I  have  been  told 
that " 

Joseph  gazed  after  the  two  ladies  crossing  the  street,  and 
felt  uncomfortable  that  the  group  of  gossips  did  the  same. 
So  did  the  black  attendant  who  glanced  furtively  back. 

"  Good-day,  Mr.  Frhowenfeld  ;  I— 

"Oh!  how  do  you  do,  sir?"  exclaimed  the  apothe 
cary,  with  great  pleasantness  of  face.  It  seemed  the 
most  natural  thing  that  they  should  resume  their  late 
conversation  just  where  they  had  left  off,  and  that  would 
certainly  be  pleasant.  But  the  man  of  more  experience 
showed  an  unresponsive  expression,  that  was  as  if  he 
remembered  no  conversation  of  any  note. 

"  I  have  been  told  that  you  might  be  able  to  rheplace 
the  glass  in  this  thing  out  of  yo'  prhivate  stock." 

He  presented  a  small,  leather-covered  case,  evidently 
containing  some  optical  instrument.  "  It  will  give  me  a 
pretext  for  going,"  he  had  said  to  himself,  as  he  put  it 
into  his  pocket  in  his  counting-room.  He  was  not 
going  to  let  the  apothecary  know  he  had  taken  such  a 
fancy  to  him. 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  Frowenfeld,  as  he  touched 
the  spring  of  the  case  ;  "  I  will  see  what  I  have." 

He  passed  into  the  back  room,  more  than  willing  to 
get  out  of  sight  till  he  might  better  collect  himself. 

"  I  do  not  keep  these  things  for  sale,"  said  he  as  he 
went. 

"  Sir  ?  "  asked  the  Creole,  as  if  he  had  not  understood, 
and  followed  through  the  open  door. 

"Is  this  what  that  lady  was  getting?"  he  asked, 
touching  the  remnant  of  the  basil  in  the  box. 


"  00  DAD  IS,   'SIEUR  FROWENFELD  ?  "  65 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  apothecary,  with  his  face  in  the 
drawer  of  a  table. 

"They  had  no  carrhiage  with  them."  The  Creole 
spoke  with  his  back  turned,  at  the  same  time  running 
his  eyes  along  a  shelf  of  books.  Frowenfeld  made 
only  the  sound  of  rejecting  bits  of  crystal  and  taking 
up  others.  "  I  do  not  know  who  they  ah,"  ventured 
the  merchant. 

Joseph  still  gave  no  answer,  but  a  moment  after  ap 
proached,  with  the  instrument  in  his  extended  hand. 

"  You  had  it  ?  I  am  glad,"  said  the  owner,  receiving 
it,  but  keeping  one  hand  still  on  the  books. 

Frowenfeld  put  up  his  materials. 

"  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,  ah  these  yo'  books  ?  I  mean  do 
you  use  these  books  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  Creole  stepped  back  to  the  door. 

"  Agrhicola  !  " 

"  Qitot.'" 

"  Vicn  id" 

Citizen  Fusilier  entered,  followed  by  a  small  volley 
of  retorts  from  those  with  whom  he  had  been  disputing, 
and  who  rose  as  he  did.  The  stranger  said  something 
very  sprightly  in  French,  running  the  back  of  one  finger 
down  the  rank  of  books,  and  a  lively  dialogue  followed. 

"You  must  be  a  grheat  scholia,"  said  the  unknown  by 
and  by,  addressing  the  apothecary. 

"  He  is  a  professor  of  chimistry,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  I  am  nothing,  as  yet,  but  a  student,"  said  Joseph, 
as  the  three  returned  into  the  shop;  "certainly  not  a 
scholar,  and  still  less  a  professor."  He  spoke  with  a 
new  quietness  of  manner  that  made  the  younger  Creole 
turn  upon  him  a  pleasant  look. 


66  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  H-my  young  friend,"  said  the  patriarch,  turning 
toward  Joseph  with  a  tremendous  frown,  "  when  I, 
Agricola  Fusilier,  pronounce  you  a  professor,  you  arc  a 
professor.  Louisiana  will  not  look  to  you  for  your 
credentials  ;  she  will  look  to  me  ! " 

He  stumbled  upon  some  slight  impediment  under 
foot.  There  were  times  when  it  took  but  little  to  make 
Agricola  stumble. 

Looking  to  see  what  it  was,  Joseph  picked  up  a  silken 
purse.  There  was  a  name  embroidered  on  it. 


CHAPTER  XL 

SUDDEN   FLASHES   OF   LIGHT. 

THE  day  was  nearly  gone.  The  company  that  had 
been  chatting  at  the  front  door,  and  which  in  warmer 
weather  would  have  tarried  until  bed-time,  had  wandered 
off;  however,  by  stepping  toward  the  light  the  young 
merchant  could  decipher  the  letters  on  the  purse. 
Citizen  Fusilier  drew  out  a  pair  of  spectacles,  looked 
over  his  junior's  shoulderj  read  aloud,  "  Aurore  De  G. 
Nanca ,"  and  uttered  an  imprecation. 

"Do  not  speak  to  me!"  he  thundered;  "do  not 
approach  me  !  she  did  it  maliciously  !  " 

"  Sir  !  "  began  Frowenfeld. 

But  the  old  man  uttered  another  tremendous  maledic 
tion  and  hurried  into  the  street  and  away. 

"  Let  him  pass,"  said  the  other  Creole  calmly. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  him  ?  "  asked  Frowenfeld. 

"  He  is  getting  old."  The  Creole  extended  the  purse 
carelessly  to  the  apothecary.  "  Has  it  anything  in 
side  ?  " 

"  But  a  single  pistareen." 

"  That  is  why  she  wanted  the  basilic,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  sir." 

"  Do  you  not  know  what  she  was  going  to  do  with 
it?" 

"  With  the  basil  ?     No  sir." 


68  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  May  be  she  was  going  to  make  a  little  tisane,  eh  ?  " 
said  the  Creole,  forcing  down  a  smile. 

But  a  portion  of  the  smile  would  come  when  Frowen- 
feld  answered,  with  unnecessary  resentment. 

"  She  was  going  to  make  some  proper  use  of  it,  which 
need  not  concern  me." 

"  Without  doubt." 

The  Creole  quietly  walked  a  step  or  two  forward  and 
back  and  looked  idly  into  the  glass-case.  "  Is  this  young 
man  in  love  with  her?"  he  asked  himself.  He  turned 
around. 

"  Do  you  know  those  ladies,  Mr.  Frhowenfcld  ?  Do 
you  visit  them  at  home  ?  " 

He  drew  out  his  porte-monnaie. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  I  will  pay  you  fo'  the  rhepair-h  of  this  instrhument ; 
have  you  change  fo'  - 

"  I  will  see,"  said  the  apothecary. 

,A.s  he  spoke  he  laid  the  purse  on  a  stool,  till  he  should 
light  his  shop  and  then  went  to  his  till  without  again 
taking  it. 

The  Creole  sauntered  across  to  the  counter  and  nipped 
the  herb  which  still  lay  there. 

"  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,  you  know  what  some  verhy  ex 
cellent  people  do  with  this  ?  They  rhub  it  on  the  sill  of 
the  do'  to*  make  the  money  come  into  the  house." 

Joseph  stopped  aghast  with  the  drawer  half  drawn. 

"  Not  persons  of  intelligence  and " 

"  All  kinds.  It  is  only  some  of  the  foolishness  which 
they  take  frhom  the  slaves.  Many  of  ow  best  people  con 
sult  the  voudou  hosses." 

"  Horses  ?  " 

"  Prhiestcsses,  you  might  call  them,"  explained  the 


SUDDEN  FLASHES   OF  LIGHT.  69 

Creole,  "  like  Momselle  Marcelline  or  'Zabeth  Philo- 
sophe." 

"  Witches  !  "  whispered  Frowenfeld. 

"  Oh  no,"  said  the  other  with  a  shrug  ;  "  that  is  too 
hahd  a  name;  say  fo'tune-telle's.  But  Mr.  Frhowenfeld, 
I  wish  you  to  lend  me  yo'  good  offices.  Just  supposing 
the  possi$//ity  that  that  lady  may  be  in  need  of  money, 
you  know,  and  will  send  back  or  come  back  fo'  the 
purse,  you  know,  knowing  that  she  most  likely  lost  it 
here-h,  I  ask  you  the  favo'  that  you  will  not  let  her  know 
I  have  filled  it  with  gold.  In  fact,  if  she  mentions  my 
name  - 

"  To  confess  the  truth,  sir,  I  am  not  acquainted  with 
your  name." 

The  Creole  smiled  a  genuine  surprise. 

"  I  thought  you  knew  it."  He  laughed  a  little  at 
himself.  "  We  have  nevvatheless  become  verhy  good 
frhiends — I  believe  ?  Well,  in  fact  then,'Mr.  Frhowenfeld, 
you  might  say  you  do  not  know  who  put  the  money  in." 
He  extended  his  open  palm  with  the  purse  hanging  across 
it.  Joseph  was  about  to  object  to  this  statement,  but  the 
Creole,  putting  on  an  expression  of  anxious  desire,  said  : 
"  I  mean,  not  by  name.  It  is  somewhat  impawtant  to 
me,  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,  that  that  lady  should  not  know 
my  prhesent  action.  If  you  want  to  do  those  two  ladies 
a  favo',  you  may  rhest  assu'ed  the  way  to  do  it  is  to  say 
you  do  not  know  who  put  this  gold."  The  Creole  in 
his  earnestness  slipped  in  his  idiom.  "  You  will  excuse 
me  if  I  do  not  tell  you  my  name  ;  you  can  find  it  out  at 
any  time  frhom  Agricola.  Ah  !  I  am  glad  she  did  not 
see  me  !  You  must  not  tell  anybody  about  this  little 
event,  eh  ?  " 

"  No,   sir,"   said  Joseph,  as  he  finally  accepted   the 


70  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

purse.  "  I  shall  say  nothing  to  any  one  else,  and  only 
what  I  cannot  avoid  saying  to  the  lady  and  her  sister." 

"  '  Tis  not  he/t  sister,"'  responded  the  Creole,  "  'tis  JicJi 
da  ught  a." 

The  italics  signify,  not  how  the  words  were  said,  but 
how  they  sounded  to  Joseph.  As  if  a  dark  lantern  were 
suddenly  turned  full  upon  it,  he  saw  the  significance  of 
Citizen  Fusilier's  transport.  The  fair  strangers  were  the 
widow  and  daughter  of  the  man  whom  Agricola  had 
killed  in  duel — the  ladies  with  whom  Doctor  Keene  had 
desired  to  make  him  acquainted. 

"  Well,  good-evening,  Mr.  Frhowenfeld."  The  Creole 
extended  his  hand  (his  people  are  great  hand-shakers). 
"  Ah —  "  and  then,  for  the  first  time,  he  came  to  the 
true  object  of  his  visit.  "  The  conve'sation  we  had  some 
weeks  ago,  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,  has  stahted  a  trhain  of 
thought  in  my  mind  " — he  began  to  smile  as  if  to  convey 
the  idea  that  Joseph  would  find  the  subject  a  trivial  one 
— "  which  has  almost  brhought  me  to  the — 

A  light  footfall  accompanied  with  the  soft  sweep  of 
robes  cut  short  his  words.  There  had  been  two  or  three 
entrances  and  exits  during  the  time  the  Creole  had  tar 
ried,  but  he  had  not  allowed  them  to  disturb  him.  Now, 
however,  he  had  no  sooner  turned  and  fixed  his  glance 
upon  this  last  comer,  than  without  so  much  as  the  inva 
riable  Creole  leave-taking  of  "Well,  good-evening,  sir," 
he  hurried  out. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

THE   PHILOSOPHE. 

THE  apothecary  felt  an  inward  nervous  start  as  there 
advanced  into  the  light  of  his  hanging  lamp  and  toward 
the  spot  where  he  had  halted,  just  outside  the  counter,  a 
woman  of  the  quadroon  caste,  of  superb  stature  and 
poise,  severely  handsome  features,  clear,  tawny  skin  and 
large,  passionate  black  eyes. 

"  Bon  soij  Miche""  [Monsieur.]  A  rather  hard,  yet 
not  repellent  smile  showed  her  faultless  teeth. 

Frowenfeld  bowed. 

"  Mo  vien  c  ere  er  la  bourse  de  Madame" 

She  spoke  the  best  French  at  her  command,  but  it  was 
not  understood. 

The  apothecary  could  only  shake  his  head. 

"  La  bourse"  she  repeated,  softly  smiling,  but  with  a 
scintillation  of  the  eyes  in  resentment  of  his  scrutiny. 
"  La  bourse,"  she  reiterated. 

"Purse?" 

"  Oui,  Michtf" 

"  You  are  sent  for  it  ?  " 

"  Oui,  Michc" 

He  drew  it  from  his  breast  pocket  and  marked  the 
sudden  glisten  of  her  eyes,  reflecting  the  glisten  of  the 
gold  in  the  silken  mesh. 

"  Oui,  c'est  $a,"  said  she,  putting  her  hand  out  eagerly. 


72  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  I  am  afraid  to  give  you  this  to-night,"  said  Joseph. 

"  Out,"  ventured  she,  dubiously,  the  lightning  play 
ing  deep  back  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  might  be  robb&d,"  said  Frowenfeld.  "It  is 
very  dangerous  for  you  to  be  out  alone.  It  will  not  be 
long  until  until  gun-fire."  (Eight  o'clock  P.  M. — the  gun 
to  warn  slaves  to  be  in-doors,  under  pain  of  arrest  and 
imprisonment.) 

The  object  of  this  solicitude  shook  her  head  with  a 
smile  at  its  gratuitousness.  The  smile  showed  determi 
nation  also. 

"  Mo  pas  compren'"  she  said. 

"  Tell  the  lady  to  send  for  it  to-morrow." 

She  smiled  helplessly  and  somewhat  vexedly,  shrugged 
and  again  shook  her  head.  As  she  did  so  she  heard 
footsteps  and  voices  in  the  door  at  her  back. 

"  C'est  fa,"  she  said  again  with  a  hurried  attempt  at 
extreme  amiability  ;  "  Dat  it ;  out  ;  "  and  lifting  her  hand 
with  some  rapidity  made  a  sudden  eager  reach  for  the 
purse,  but  failed. 

"  No  !  "  said  Frowenfeld,  indignantly. 

"  Hello  !  "  said  Charlie  Keene  amusedly,  as  he  ap 
proached  from  the  door. 

The  woman  turned,  and  in  one  or  two  rapid  sentences 
in  the  Creole  dialect  offered  her  explanation. 

"  Give  her  the  purse,  Joe  ;  I  will  answer  for  its  being 
all  right." 

Frowenfeld  handed  it  to  her.  She  started  to  pass 
through  the  door  in  the  rue  Royale  by  which  Doctor 
Keene  had  entered  ;  but  on  seeing  on  its  threshold  Agri- 
cola  frowning  upon  her,  she  turned  quickly  with  evident 
trepidation,  and  hurried  out  into  the  darkness  of  the 
other  street. 


THE   PHILOSOPHE,  73 

Agricola  entered.  Doctor  Keene  looked  about  the 
shop. 

"  I  tell  you,  Agricole,  you  didn't  have  it  with  you  ; 
Frovvenfeld,  you  haven't  seen  a  big  knotted  walking- 
stick  ?  " 

Frowenfeld  was  sure  no  walking-stick  had  been  left 
there. 

"Oh  yes,  Frowenfeld,"  said  Doctor  Keene,  with  a 
little  laugh,  as  the  three  sat  down,  "  I'd  a'most  as  soon 
trust  that  woman  as  if  she  was  white." 

The  apothecary  said  nothing. 

"  How  free,"  said  Agricola,  beginning  with  a  medita 
tive  gaze  at  the  sky  without,  and  ending  with  a  philo 
sopher's  smile  upon  his  two  companions, — "  how  free  we 
people  are  from  prejudice  against  the  negro  !  " 

"The  white  people,"  said  Frowenfeld,  half  abstract 
edly,  half  inquiringly. 

"  H-my  young  friend,  when  we  say,  'we  people,'  we 
ahvays  mean  we  white  people.  The  non-mention  of 
color  always  implies  pure  white  ;  and  whatever  is  not 
pure  white  is  to  all  intents  and  purposes  pure  black. 
When  I  say  the  '  whole  community,'  I  mean  the  whole 
white  portion  ;  when  I  speak  of  the  '  undivided  public 
sentiment,'  I  mean  the  sentiment  of  the  white  popula 
tion.  What  else  could  I  mean  ?  Could  you  suppose, 
sir,  the  expression  which  you  may  have  heard  me  use — 
'  my  down-trodden  country '  includes  blacks  and  mulat- 
toes  ?  What  is  that  up  yonder  in  the  sky  ?  The  moon. 
The  new  moon,  or  the  old  moon,  or  the  moon  in  her 
third  quarter,  but  ahvays  the  moon  !  Which  part  of  it  ? 
Why,  the  shining  part — the  white  part,  always  and  only  ! 
Not  that  there  is  a  prejudice  against  the  negro.  By  no 
means.  Wherever  he  can  be  of  any  service  in  a  strictly 
4 


74  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

menial  capacity  we  kindly  and  generously  tolerate  his 
presence." 

Was  the  immigrant  growing  wise,  or  weak,  that  he 
remained  silent  ? 

Agricola  rose  as  he  concluded  and  said  he  would  go 
home.  Doctor  Keene  gave  him  his  hand  lazily,  with 
out  rising. 

"Frowenfeld,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  and  in  an  under 
tone  as  Agricola's  footsteps  died  away,  "  don't  you 
know  who  that  woman  is  ?  " 

"No." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you." 

He  told  him. 

On  that  lonely  plantation  at  the  Cannes  Brulees, 
where  Aurore  Nancanou's  childhood  had  been  passed 
without  brothers  or  sisters,  there  had  been  given  her, 
according  to  the  well-known  custom  of  plantation  life,  a 
little  quadroon  slave-maid  as  her  constant  and  only  play 
mate.  This  maid  began  early  to  show  herself  in  many 
ways  remarkable.  While  yet  a  child  she  grew  tall,  lithe, 
agile  ;  her  eyes  were  large  and  black,  and  rolled  and 
sparkled  if  she  but  turned  to  answer  to  her  name.  Her 
pale  yellow  forehead,  low  and  shapely,  with  the  jet  hair 
above  it,  the  heavily  pencilled  eyebrows  and  long  lashes 
below,  the  faint  red  tinge  that  blushed  with  a  kind  of 
cold  passion  through  the  clear  yellow  skin  of  the  cheek, 
the  fullness  of  the  red,  voluptuous  lips  and  the  roundness 
of  her  perfect  neck,  gave  her,  even  at  fourteen,  a  barbaric 
and  magnetic  beauty,  that  startled  the  beholder  like  an 
unexpected  drawing  out  of  a  jewelled  sword.  Such  a 
type  could  have  sprung  only  from  high  Latin  ancestry 
on  the  one  side  and — we  might  venture— Jaloff  African 


THE   PHILOSOPHE.  75 

on  the  other.  To  these  charms  of  person  she  added 
mental  acuteness,  conversational  adroitness,  concealed 
cunning  and  noiseless  but  visible  strength  of  will ;  and 
to  these,  that  rarest  of  gifts  in  one  of  her  tincture,  the 
purity  of  true  womanhood. 

At  fourteen  a  necessity  which  had  been  parleyed  with 
for  two  years  or  more  became  imperative  and  Aurore's 
maid  was  taken  from  her.  Explanation  is  almost  super 
fluous.  Aurore  was  to  become  a  lady  and  her  playmate 
a  lady's  maid  ;  but  not  her  maid,  because  the  maid  had 
become,  of  the  two,  the  ruling  spirit.  It  was  a  question 
of  grave  debate  in  the  mind  of  M.  De  Grapion  what  dis 
position  to  make  of  her. 

About  this  time  the  Grandissimes  and  De  Grapions, 
through  certain  efforts  of  Honore's  father  (since  dead) 
were  making  some  feeble  pretences  of  mutual  good  feel 
ing,  and  one  of  those  Kentuckian  dealers  in  corn  and 
tobacco  whose  flat-boat  fleets  were  always  drifting  down 
the  Mississippi,  becoming  one  day  M.  De  Grapion's 
transient  guest,  accidentally  mentioned  a  wish  of  Agri- 
cola  Fusilier.  Agricola,  it  appeared,  had  commissioned 
him  to  buy  the  "most  beautiful  lady's  maid  that  in  his 
extended  journeyings  he  might  be  able  to  find  ;  he 
wanted  to  make  her  a  gift  to  his  niece,  Honore's  sister. 
The  Kentuckian  saw  the  demand  met  in  Aurore's  play 
mate.  M.  De  Grapion  would  not  sell  her.  .  (Trade  with 
a  Grandissime  ?  Let  them  suspect  he  needed  money  ?) 
No  ;  but  he  would  ask  Agricola  to  accept  the  services 
of  the  waiting-maid  for,  say,  ten  years.  The  Kentuckian 
accepted  the  proposition  on  the  spot  and  it  was  by  and 
by  carried  out.  She  was  never  recalled  to  the  Cannes 
Brulees,  but  in  subsequent  years  received  her  freedom 
from  her  master,  and  in  New  Orleans  became  Palmyre 


76  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

la  Philosophe,  as  they  say  in  the  corrupt  French  of  the 
old  Creoles,  or  Palmyre  Philosophe,  noted  for  her  taste 
and  skill  as  a  hair-dresser,  for  the  efficiency  of  her  spells 
and  the  sagacity  of  her  divinations,  but  most  of  all  for 
the  chaste  austerity  with  which  she  practised  the  less 
baleful  rites  of  the  voudous. 

"  That's  the  woman,"  said  Doctor  Keene,  rising  to 
go.  as  he  concluded  the  narrative, — "  that's  she,  Palmyre 
Philosophe.  Now  you  get  a  view  of  the  vastness  of 
Agricole's  generosity  ;  he  tolerates  her  even  though 
she  does  not  present  herself  in  the  '  strictly  menial 
capacity. '  Reason  why — lie  s  afraid  of  her." 

Time  passed,  if  that  may  be  called  time  which  we 
have  to  measure  with  a  clock.  The  apothecary  of  the 
rue  Royale  found  better  ways  of  measurement.  As 
quietly  as  a  spider  he  was  spinning  information  into 
knowledge  and  knowledge  into  what  is  supposed  to  be 
wisdom ;  whether  it  \vas  or  not  we  shall  see.  His 
unidentified  merchant  friend  who  had  adjured  him  to 
become  acclimated  as  "  they  all  did  "  had  also  exhorted 
him  to  study  the  human  mass  of  whidi  he  had  become 
a  unit  ;  but  whether  that  study,  if  pursued,  wras  sweeten 
ing  and  ripening,  or  whether  it  was  corrupting  him,  that 
friend  did  not  come  to  see  ;  it  was  the  busy  time  of  year. 
Certainly  so  young  a  solitary,  coming  among  a  people 
whose  conventionalities  were  so  at  variance  with  his  own 
door-yard  ethics,  was  in  sad  danger  of  being  unduly— as 
we  might  say — Timonized.  His  acquaintances  con 
tinued  to  be  few  in  number. 

During  this  fermenting  period  he  chronicled  much  wet 
and  some  cold  weather.  This  may  in  part  account  for 
the  uneventfulncss  of  its  passage  ;  events  do  not  happen 


THE  PHILOSOPHE.  77 

rapidly  among  the  Creoles  in  bad  weather.     However, 
trade  was  good. 

But  the  weather  cleared  ;  and  when  it  was  get 
ting  well  on  into  the  Creole  spring  and  approaching 
the  spring  of  the  almanacs,  something  did  occur  that 
extended  Frowenfeld's  acquaintance  without  Doctor 
Keene's  assistance. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A   CALL  FROM  THE   RENT-SPECTRE. 

IT  is  nearly  noon  of  a  balmy  morning  late  in  February. 
Aurore  Nancanou  and  her  daughter  have  only  this 
moment  ceased  sewing,  in  the  small  front  room  of  No. 
19  rue  Bienville.  Number  19  is  the  right-hand  half  of  a 
single-story,  low-roofed  tenement,  washed  with  yellow 
ochre,  which  it  shares  generously  with  whoever  leans 
against  it.  It  sits  as  fast  on  the  ground  as  a  toad. 
There  is  a  kitchen  belonging  to  it  somewhere  among  the 
weeds  in  the  back  yard,  and  besides  this  room,  where  the 
ladies  are,  there  is  directly  behind  it,  a  sleeping  apart 
ment.  Somewhere  back  of  this  there  is  a  little  nook 
where  in  pleasant  weather  they  eat.  Their  cook  and 
housemaid  is  the  plain  person  who  attends  them  on  the 
street.  Her  bed-chamber  is  the  kitchen  and  her  bed 
the  floor.  The  house's  only  other  protector  is  a  hound, 
the  aim  of  whose  life  is  to  get  thrust  out  of  the  ladies' 
apartments  every  fifteen  minutes. 

Yet  if  you  hastily  picture  to  yourself  a  forlorn-looking 
establishment,  you  will  be  moving  straight  away  from 
the  fact.  Neatness,  order,  excellence,  arc  prevalent 
qualities  in  all  the  details  of  the  main  house's  inward 
garniture.  The  furniture  is  old-fashioned,  rich,  French, 
imported.  The  carpets,  if  not  new,  arc  not  cheap, 
either.  Bits  of  crystal  and  silver,  visible  here  and  there, 


A    CALL   FROM   THE   RENT-SPECTRE.  79 

are  as  bright  as  they  are  antiquated  ;  and  one  or  two 
portraits,  and  the  picture  of  Our  Lady  of  Many  Sorrows, 
are  passably  good  productions.  The  brass  work,  of 
which  there  is  much,  is  brilliantly  burnished,  and  the 
front  room  is  bright  and  cheery. 

At  the  street  door  of  this  room  somebody  has  just 
knocked.  Aurore  has  risen  from  her  seat.  The  other 
still  sits  on  a  low  chair  with  her  hands  and  sewing 
dropped  into  her  lap,  looking  up  steadfastly  into  her 
mother's  face  with  a  mingled  expression  of  fondness  and 
dismayed  expectation.  Aurore  hesitates  beside  her 
chair,  desirous  of  resuming  her  seat,  even  lifts  her  sew 
ing  from  it  ;  but  tarries  a  moment,  her  alert  suspense 
showing  in  her  eyes.  Her  daughter  still  looks  up  into 
them.  It  is  not  strange  that  the  dwellers  round  about 
_  dispute  as  to  which  is  the  fairer,  nor  that  in  the  six 
months  during  which  the  two  have  occupied  No.  19  the 
neighbors  have  reached  no  conclusion  on  this  subject. 
If  some  young  enthusiast  compares  the  daughter — in 
her  eighteenth  year — to  a  bursting  blush  rosebud  full  of 
promise,  some  older  one  immediately  retorts  that  the 
other — in  her  thirty-fifth — is  the  red,  red,  full-blown, 
faultless  joy  of  the  garden.  If  one  says  the  maiden  has 
the  dew  of  youth, — "  But !  "  cry  two  or  three  mothers 
in  a  breath,  "  that  other  one,  child,  will  never  grow  old. 
With  her  it  will  always  be  morning.  That  woman  is 
going  to  last  forever  ;  ha-a-a-a  ! — even  longer  !  " 

There  was  one  direction  in  which  the  widow  evidently 
had  the  advantage  ;  you  could  see  from  the  street  or  the 
opposite  windows  that  she  was  a  wise  householder.  On 
the  day  they  moved  into  Number  19  she  had  been  seen 
to  enter  in  advance  of  all  her  other  movables,  carrying 
into  the  empty  house  a  new  broom,  a  looking-glass,  and 


8O  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

a  silver  coin.  Every  morning  since,  a  little  watching 
would  have  discovered  her  at  the  hour  of  sunrise  sprink 
ling  water  from  her  side  casement,  and  her  opposite 
neighbors  often  had  occasion  to  notice  that,  sitting  at 
her  sewing  by  the  front  window,  she  never  pricked  her 
finger  but  she  quickly  ran  it  up  behind  her  ear,  and  then 
went  on  with  her  work.  Would  anybody  but  Joseph 
Frowenfeld  ever  have  lived  in  and  moved  away  from  the 
two-story  brick  next  them  on  the  right  and  not  have 
known  of  the  existence  of  such  a  marvel  ? 

"  Ha  !  "  they  said,  "  she  knows  how  to  keep  off  bad 
luck,  that  Madame  yonder.  And  the  younger  one 
seems  not  to  like  it.  Girls  think  themselves  so  smart 
these  days." 

Ah,  there  was  the  knock  again,  right  there  on  the 
street-door,  as  loud  as  if  it  had  been  given  with  a  joint 
of  sugar-cane  ! 

The  daughter's  hand,  which  had  just  resumed  the 
needle,  stood  still  in  mid-course  with  the  white  thread 
half  drawn.  Aurore  tiptoed  slowly  over  the  carpeted 
floor.  There  came  a  shuffling  sound,  and  the  corner 
of  a  folded  white  paper  commenced  appearing  and 
disappearing  under  the  door.  She  mounted  a  chair  and 
peeped  through  that  odd  little  jalousie  which  formerly 
was  in  almost  all  New  Orleans  street-doors  ;  but  the 
missive  had  meantime  found  its  way  across  the  sill,  and 
she  saw  only  the  unpicturesque  back  of  a  departing 
errand-boy.  But  that  was  well.  She  had  a  pride,  to 
maintain  which — and  a  poverty,  to  conceal  which — she 
felt  to  be  necessary  to  her  self  respect ;  and  this  made  her 
of  necessity  a  trifle  unsocial  in  her  own  castle.  Do  you 
suppose  she  was  going  to  put  on  the  face  of  having  been 
born  or  married  to  this  degraded  condition  of  things  ? 


A    CALL   FROM   THE  RENT-SPECTRE.  8 1 

Who  knows  ? — the  knock  might  have  been  from  'Sieur 
Frowenfel' — ha,  ha  !  He  might  be  just  silly  enough  to 
call  so  early  ;  or  it  might  have  been  from  that  polisson 
of  a  Grandissime, — which  one  didn't  matter,  they  were 
all  detestable, — coming  to  collect  the  rent.  That  was 
her  original  fear  ;  or,  worse  still,  it  might  have  been, 
had  it  been  softer,  the  knock  of  some  possible  lady- 
visitor.  She  had  no  intention  of  admitting  any  feminine 
eyes  to  detect  this  carefully  covered  up  indigence. 
Besides,  it  was  Monday.  There  is  no  sense  in  trifling 
with  bad  luck.  The  reception  of  Monday  callers  is  a 
source  of  misfortune  never  known  to  fail,  save  in  rare 
cases  when  good  luck  has  already  been  secured  by 
smearing  the  front  walk  or  the  banquette  with  Venetian 
red. 

Before  the  daughter  could  dart  up  and  disengage 
herself  from  her  work  her  mother  had  pounced  upon  the 
paper.  She  was  standing  and  reading,  her  rich  black 
lashes  curtaining  their  downcast  eyes,  her  infant  waist 
and  round,  close-fitted,  childish  arms  harmonizing 
prettily  with  her  mock  frown  of  infantile  perplexity,  and 
her  long,  limp  robe  heightening  the  grace  of  her  posture, 
when  the  younger  started  from- her  seat  with  the  air  of 
determining  not  to  be  left  at  a  disadvantage. 

But  what  is  that  on  the  dark  eyelash  ?  With  a  sudden 
additional  energy  the  daughter  dashes  the  sewing  and 
chair  to  right  and  left,  bounds  up,  and  in  a  moment  has 
Aurore  weeping  in  her  embrace  and  has  snatched  the 
note  from  her  hand. 

"  Ah  !  maman  !     AJi  !  ma  chere  mere  !  " 

The  mother  forced  a  laugh.  She  was  not  to  be 
mothered  by  her  daughter;  so  she  made  a  dash  at 
Clotilde's  uplifted  hand  to  recover  the  note,  which  was 
4* 


82  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

unavailing.  Immediately  there  arose  in  colonial  French 
the  loveliest  of  contentions,  the  issue  of  which  was  that 
the  pair  sat  down  side  by  side,  like  two  sisters  over  one 
love-letter,  and  undertook  to  decipher  the  paper.  It 
read  as  follows  : 

"NEW  ORLEANS,  20  Feb're,  1804. 

"MADAME  NANCANOU  :  I  muss  oblige  to  ass  you  for  rent  of  that  house 
whare  you  living,  it  is  at  number  19  Bienville  street  whare  I  do  not  re 
ceived  thos  rent  from  you  not  since  tree  mons  and  I  demand  you  this  is 
mabe  thirteen  time.  And  I  give  to  you  notice  of  19  das  writ  en  in  Anglish  as 
the  new  law  requi.  That  witch  the  law  make  necessare  only  for  15  das, 
and  when  you  not  pay  me  those  rent  in  19  das  till  the  tense  of  Marh  I 
will  rekes  you  to  move  out.  That  witch  make  me  to  be  very  sorry.  I  hav£ 
the  honor  to  remain,  Madam, 

"Your humble  servant, 

"  H.  GRAXDISSIME, 

"per  Z.  F." 

There  was  a  short  French  postscript  on  the  opposite 
page  signed  only  by  M.  Zenon  Frangois,  explaining 
that  he,  who  had  allowed  them  in  the  past  to  address 
him  as  their  landlord  and  by  his  name,  was  but  the 
landlord's  agent ;  that  the  landlord  was  a  far  better- 
dressed  man  than  he  could  afford  to  be  ;  that  the  writing 
opposite  was  a  notice  for  them  to  quit  the  premises  they 
had  rented  (not  leased),  or  pay  up  ;  that  it  gave  the 
writer  great  pain  to  send  it,  although  it  was  but  the 
necessary  legal  form  and  he  only  an  irresponsible  drawer 
of  an  inadequate  salary,  with  thirteen  children  to  support ; 
and  that  he  implored  them  to  tear  off  and  burn  up  this 
postscript  immediately  they  had  read  it. 

"Ah,  the  miserable!"  was  all  the  comment  made 
upon  it  as  the  two  ladies  addressed  their  energies  to  the 
previous  English.  They  had  never  suspected  him  of 
being  M.  Grandissime. 


A    CALL   FROM   THE  RENT-SPECTRE.  83 

Their  eyes  dragged  slowly  and  ineffectually  along  the 
lines  to  the  signature. 

"  H.  Grandissime  !  Loog  ad  'im  !  "  cried  the  widow, 
with  a  sudden  short  laugh,  that  brought  the  tears  after 
it  like  a  wind-gust  in  a  rose-tree.  She  held  the  letter 
out  before  them  as  if  she  was  lifting  something  alive  by 
the  back  of  the  neck,  and  to  intensify  her  scorn  spoke 
in  the  hated  tongue  prescribed  by  the  new  courts. 
"  Loog  ad  'im  !  dad  ridge  gen'leman  oo  give  so  mudge 
money  to  de  'ozpill  !  " 

"Bud,  maman"  said  the  daughter,  laying  her  hand 
appeasingly  upon  her  mother's  knee,  "  ee  do  nod  know 
'ow  we  is  poor. 

"Ah!"  retorted  Aurore,  "par  example!  Non? 
Ee  thingue  we  is  ridge,  eh  ?  Ligue  his  oncle,  eh  ?  Ee 
thing  so,  too,  eh  ?  "  She  cast  upon  her  daughter  the 
look  of  burning  scorn  intended  for  Agricola  Fusilier. 
"  You  wan'  to  tague  the  pard  of  dose  Grandissime'  ?  " 

The  daughter  returned  a  look  of  agony. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  bud  a  man  wad  godd  some  'ouses 
to  rend,  muz  ee  nod  boun'  to  ged  'is  rend?  " 

"  Boun'  to  ged — ah  !  yez  ee  muz  do  'is  possible  to  ged 
'is  rend.  Oh  !  certain/^.  Ee  is  ridge,  bud  ee  need  a 
lill  money,  bad,  bad.  Fo'  w'at  ?  "  The  excited  speaker 
rose  to  her  feet  under  a  sudden  inspiration.  "  Tencz, 
Mademoiselle!"  She  began  to  make  great  show  of 
unfastening  her  dress. 

"  Mais,  comment  ?  "  demanded  the  suffering  daughter, 

"Yez!"  continued  Aurore,  keeping  up  the  demon 
stration,  "  you  wand  'im  to  'ave  'is  rend  so  bad  !  An' 
I  godd  honely  my  cloze ;  so  you  juz  tague  diz  to  you' 
fine  gen'lemen,  'Sieur  Honore  Grandissime." 

"  Ah-h-h-h  !  "  cried  the  martyr. 


4  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"An*  you  is  righd,"  persisted  the  tormentor,  still 
unfastening  ;  but  the  daughter's  tears  gushed  forth,  and 
the  repentant  tease  threw  herself  upon  her  knees,  drew 
her  child's  head  into  her  bosom  and  wept  afresh. 

Half  an  hour  was  passed  in  council  ;  at  the  end  of 
which  they  stood  beneath  their  lofty  mantel-shelf,  each 
with  a  foot  on  a  brazen  fire-dog,  and  no  conclusion 
reached. 

"  Ah,  my  child  !  " — they  had  come  to  themselves  now 
and  were  speaking  in  their  peculiar  French — "  if  we  had 
here  in  these  hands  but  the  tenth  part  of  what  your 
papa  often  played  away  in  one  night  without  once  get 
ting  angry  !  But  we  have  not.  Ah  !  but  your  father 
was  a  fine  fellow  ;  if  he  could  have  lived  for  you  to  know 
him  !  So  accomplished  !  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  I  can  never 
avoid  laughing,  when  I  remember  him  teaching  me  to 
speak  English  ;  I  used  to  enrage  him  so  !  " 

The  daughter  brought  the  conversation  back  to  the 
subject  of  discussion.  There  were  nineteen  days  yet 
allowed  them.  God  knows — by  the  expiration  of  that 
time  they  might  be  able  to  pay.  With  the  two  music 
scholars  whom  she  then  had  and  three  more  whom  she 
had  some  hope  to  get,  she  made  bold  to  say  they  could 
pay  the  rent. 

"Ah,  Clotilde,  my  child,"  exclaimed  Aurore,  with 
sudden  brightness,  "  you  don't  need  a  mask  and  costume 
to  resemble  your  great-grandmother,  the  casket-girl !  " 
Aurore  felt  sure,  on  her  part,  that  with  the  one  em 
broidery  scholar  then  under  her  tutelage,  and  the  three 
others  who  had  declined  to  take  lessons,  they  could 
easily  pay  the  rent — and  how  kind  it  was  of  Monsieur* 
the  aged  father  of  that  one  embroidery  scholar,  to  pro 
cure  those  invitations  to  the  ball  !  The  dear  old  man  ! 


A    CALL   FROM  THE  RENT-SPECTRE.  85 

He  said  he  must  see  one  more  ball  before  he  should 
die. 

Aurore  looked  so  pretty  in  the  reverie  into  which  she 
fell  that  her  daughter  was  content  to  admire  her  silently. 

"  Clotilde,"  said  the  mother,  presently  looking  up, 
"  do  you  remember  the  evening  you  treated  me  so  ill  ?  " 

The  daughter  smiled  at  the  preposterous  charge. 

"  I  did  not  treat  you  ill." 

"  Yes,  don't  you  know — the  evening  you  made  me 
lose  my  purse  ?  " 

"Certainly,  I  know  !  "  The  daughter  took  her  foot 
from  the  andiron  ;  her  eyes  lighted  up  aggressively.  "  For 
losing  your  purse  blame  yourself.  For  the  way  you 
found  it  again — which  was  far  worse — thank  Palmyre. 
If  you  had  not  asked  her  to  find  it  and  shared  the  gold 
with  her  we  could  have  returned  with  it  to  'Sieur  Frow- 
enfel'  ;  but  now  we  are  ashamed  to  let  him  see  us.  I 
do  not  doubt  he  filled  the  purse." 

"  He  ?  He  never  knew  it  was  empty.  It  was 
Nobody  who  filled  it.  Palmyre  says  that  Papa 
Lebat- 

"  Ha  !  "  exclaimed  Clotilde  at  this  superstitious  men 
tion. 

The  mother  tossed  her  head  and  turned  her  back, 
swallowing  the  unendurable  bitterness  of  being  rebuked 
by  her  daughter.  But  the  cloud  hung  over  but  a 
moment. 

"  Clotilde,"  she  said,  a  minute  after,  turning  with  a 
look  of  sun-bright  resolve,  "  I  am  going  to  see  him." 

"  To  see  whom  ?  "  asked  the  other,  looking  back  from 
the  window,  whither  she  had  gone  to  recover  from  a  re 
actionary  trembling. 

"  To  whom,  my  child  ?     Why " 


86  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"You  do  not  expect  mercy  from  Honore  Grandis- 
sime  ?  You  would  not  ask  it  ?  " 

"  No.  There  is  no  mercy  in  the  Grandissime  blood  ; 
but  cannot  I  demand  justice  ?  Ha!  it  is  justice  that  I 
shall  demand  !  " 

"  And  you  will  really  go  and  see  him  ?  " 

"You  will  see,  Mademoiselle,"  replied  Aurore,  drop 
ping  a  broom  with  which  she  had  begun  to  sweep  up 
some  spilled  buttons. 

"  And  I  with  you  ?" 

"  No  !  To  a  counting-room  ?  To  the  presence  of  the 
chief  of  that  detestable  race  ?  No  !  " 

"  But  you  don't  know  where  his  office  is." 

"  Anybody  can  tell  me." 

Preparation  began  at  once.     By  and  by 

"Clotilde." 

Clotilde  was  stooping  behind  her  mother,  with  a  rib 
bon  between  her  lips,  arranging  a  flounce. 

"M-m-m." 

"You  must  not  watch  me  go  out  of  sight;  do  you 
hear  ?  *  *  But  it  is  dangerous;  I  knew  of  a  gentle 
man  who  watched  his  wife  go  out  of  his  sight  and  she 
never  came  back  !  " 

"  Hold  still!"  said  Clotilde. 

"  But  when  my  hand  itches,"  retorted  Aurore  in  a 
high  key,  "haven't  I  got  to  put  it  instantly  into  my 
pocket  if  I  want  the  money  to  come  there  !  Well, 
then  !  " 

*  The  daughter  proposed  to  go  to  the  kitchen  and  tell 
Alphonsina  to  put  on  her  shoes. 

"  My  child,"  cried  Aurore,  "  you  arc  crazy!  Do  you 
want  Alphonsina  to  be  seized  for  the  rent  ?  " 

"  But  you  cannot  go  alone — and  on  foot !  " 


A    CALL   FROM    THE  RENT-SPECTRE.  87 

"  I  must  go  alone ;  and — can  you  lend  me  your  car 
riage  ?  Ah,  you  have  none  ?  Certainly  I  must  go  alone 
and  on  foot  if  I  am  to  say  I  cannot  pay  the  rent.  It  is 
no  indiscretion  of  mine.  If  anything  happens  to  me  it  is 
M.  Grandissime  who  is  responsible." 

Now  she  is  ready  for  the  adventurous  errand.  She 
darts  to  the  mirror.  The  high-water  marks  are  gone 
from  her  eyes.  She  wheels  half  around  and  looks  over 
her  shoulder.  The  flaring  bonnet  and  loose  ribbons 
gave  her  a  more  girlish  look  than  ever. 

"  Now  which  is  the  older,  little  old  woman  ?  "  she  chir 
rups,  and  smites  her  daughter's  cheek  softly  with  her 
palm. 

"  And  you  are  not  afraid  to  go  alone  ?  " 

"  No  ;  but  remember  !  look  at  that  dog  !  " 

The  brute  sinks  apologetically  to  the  floor.  Clotilde 
opens  the  street  door,  hands  Aurore  the  note,  Aurore 
lays  a  frantic  kiss  upon  her  lips,  pressing  it  on  tight  so 
as  to  get  it  again  when  she  comes  back,  and — while  Clo 
tilde  calls  the  cook  to  gather  up  the  buttons  and  take 
away  the  broom,  and  while  the  cook,  to  make  one  trip 
of  it,  gathers  the  hound  into  her  bosom  and  carries 
broom  and  dog  out  together — Aurore  sallies  forth,  leav 
ing  Clotilde  to  resume  her  sewing  and  await  the  coming 
of  a  guitar  scholar. 

"  It  will  keep  her  fully  an  hour,"  thought  the  girl,  far 
from  imagining  that  Aurore  had  set  about  a  little  private 
business  which  she  proposed  to  herself  to  accomplish 
before  she  even  started  in  the  direction  of  M.  Grandis- 
sime's  counting-moms. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

BEFORE   SUNSET. 

IN  old  times,  most  of  the  sidewalks  of  New  Orleans 
not  in  the  heart  of  town  were  only  a  rough,  rank  turf, 
lined  on  the  side  next  the  ditch  with  the  gun  wales  of 
broken-up  flat-boats — ugly,  narrow,  slippery  objects. 
As  Aurora— it  sounds  so  much  pleasanter  to  anglicize 
her  name — as  Aurora  gained  a  corner  where  two  of  these 
gunwales  met,  she  stopped  and  looked  back  to  make 
sure  that  Clotilde  was  not  watching  her.  That  others 
had  noticed  her  here  and  there  she  did  not  care  ;  that 
was  something  beauty  would  have  to  endure,  and  it  only 
made  her  smile  to  herself. 

"  Everybody  sees  I  am  from  the  country — walking  on 
the  street  without  a  waiting-maid." 

A  boy  passed,  hushing  his  whistle,  and  gazing  at  the 
lone  lady  until  his  turning  neck  could  twist  no  farther. 
She  was  so  dewy  fresh  !  After  he  had  got  across  the 
street  he  turned  to  look  again.  Where  could  she  have 
disappeared  ? 

The  only  object  to  be  seen  on  the  corner  from  which 
she  had  vanished,  was  a  small,  yellow-washed  house 
much  like  the  one  Aurora  occupied,  as  it  was  like  hun 
dreds  that  then  characterized  and  still  characterize  the 
town,  only  that  now  they  are  of  brick  instead  of  adobe. 
They  showed  in  those  days,  even  more  than  now,  the 


BEFORE   SUNSET.  89 

wide  contrast  between  their  homely  exteriors  and  the 
often  elegant  apartments  within.  However,  in  this 
house  the  front  room  was  merely  neat.  The  furniture 
was  of  rude,  heavy  pattern,  Creole-made,  and  the  walls 
were  unadorned  ;  the  day  of  cheap  pictures  had  not 
come.  The  lofty  bedstead  which  filled  one  corner  was 
spread  and  hung  with  a  blue  stuff  showing  through  a 
web  of  white  needlework.  The  brazen  feet  of  the  chairs 
were  brightly  burnished,  as  were  the  brass  mountings  of 
the  bedstead  and  the  brass  globes  on  the  cold  andirons. 
Curtains  of  blue  and  white  hung  at  the  single  window. 
The  floor,  from  habitual  scrubbing  with  the  common 
weed  which  politeness  has  to  call  Hclenium  auttimnale, 
was  stained  a  bright,  clean  yellow.  On  it  were  here  and 
there  in  places,  white  mats  woven  of  bleached  palmetto- 
leaf.  Such  were  the  room's  appointments  ;  there  was 
but  one  thing  more, — a  singular  bit  of  fantastic  carving, 
— a  small  table  of  dark  mahogany  supported  on  the  up 
ward-writhing  images  of  three  scaly  serpents. 

Aurora  sat  down  beside  this  table.  A  dwarf  Congo 
woman,  as  black  as  soot,  had  ushered  her  in,  and,  hav 
ing  barred  the  door,  had  disappeared,  and  now  the  mis 
tress  of  the  house  entered. 

February  though  it  was,  she  was  dressed — and  looked 
comfortable — in  white.  That  barbaric  beauty  which  had 
begun  to  bud  twenty  years  before  was  now  in  perfect 
bloom.  The  united  grace  and  pride  of  her  movement 
was  inspiring  but — what  shall  we  say  ? — feline  ?  It  was 
a  femininity  without  humanity, — something  that  made 
her  with  all  her  superbness,  a  creature  that  one  would 
want  to  find  chained.  It  was  the  woman  who  had  re 
ceived  the  gold  from  Frowenfeld — Palmyre  Philosophe. 

The  moment  her  eyes  fell  upon  Aurora  her  whole  ap- 


9°  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

pearance  changed.  A  girlish  smile  lighted  up  her  face, 
and  as  Aurora  rose  up  reflecting  it  back,  they  simulta 
neously  clapped  hands,  laughed  and  advanced  joyously 
toward  each  other,  talking  rapidly  without  regard  to 
each  other's  words. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Palmyre,  in  the  plantation  French  of 
their  childhood,  as  they  shook  hands. 

They  took  chairs  and  drew  up  face  to  face  as  close  as 
they  could  come,  then  sighed  and  smiled  a  moment,  and 
then  looked  grave  and  were  silent.  For  in  the  nature 
of  things,  and  notwithstanding  the  amusing  familiarity 
common  between  Creole  ladies  and  the  menial  class,  the 
unprotected  little  widow  should  have  had  a  very  serious 
errand  to  bring  her  to  the  voudou's  house. 

"  Palmyre,"  began  the  lady,  in  a  sad  tone. 

"  Momselle  Aurore." 

"  I  want  you  to  help  me."  The  former  mistress  not 
only  cast  her  hands  into  her  lap,  lifted  her  eyes  suppli- 
catingly  and  dropped  them  again,  but  actually  locked  her 
fingers  to  keep  them  from  trembling. 

"  Momselle  Aurore "  began  Palmyre,  solemnly. 

"  Now,  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say — but  it  is 
of  no  use  to  say  it ;  do  this  much  for  me  this  one  time 
and  then  I  will  let  voudou  alone  as  much  as  you  wish- 
forever  !  " 

"  You  have  not  lost  your  purse  again  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  foolishness,  no." 

Both  laughed  a  little,  the  philosophe  feebly,  and  Au 
rora  with  an  excited  tremor. 

"Weil?"  demanded  the  quadroon,  looking  grave 
again. 

Aurora  did  not  answer. 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  work  a  spell  for  you  ?  " 


BEFORE   SUNSET.  9 1 

The  widow  nodded,  with  her  eyes  cast  down. 

Both  sat  quite  still  for  some  time  ;  then  the  philosophe 
gently  drew  the  landlord's  letter  from  between  Aurora's 
hands. 

"What  is  this  ?  "    She  could  not  read  in  any  language. 

"  I  must  pay  my  rent  within  nineteen  days." 

"  Have  you  not  paid  it  ?  " 

The  delinquent  shook  her  head. 

"  Where  is  the  gold  that  came  into  your  purse  ?  All 
gone  ?  " 

"  For  rice  and  potatoes,"  said  Aurora,  and  for  the  first 
time  she  uttered  a  genuine  laugh,  under  that  condition 
of  mind  which  Latins  usually  substitute  for  fortitude. 
Palmyre  laughed  too,  very  properly. 

Another  silence  followed.  The  lady  could  not  return 
the  quadroon's  searching  gaze. 

"  Momselle  Aurore,"  suddenly  said  Palmyre,  "  you 
want  me  to  work  a  spell  for  something  else." 

Aurora  started,  looked  up  for  an  instant  in  a  fright 
ened  way,  and  then  dropped  her  eyes  and  let  her  head 
droop,  murmuring  : 

"  No,  I  do  not." 

Palmyre  fixed  a  long  look  upon  her  former  mistress. 
She  saw  that  though  Aurora  might  be  distressed  about 
the  rent,  there  was  something  else, — a  deeper  feeling, 
impelling  her  upon  a  course  the  very  thought  of  which 
drove  the  color  from  her  lips  and  made  her  trem 
ble. 

'  You  arc  wearing  red,"  said  the  philosophe. 

Aurora's  hand  went  nervously  to  the  red  ribbon  about 
her  neck. 

"  It  is  an  accident;   I  had  nothing  else  convenient." 

"  Miche    Agoussou    loves    red,"    persisted    Palmyre. 


92  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

(Monsieur  Agoussou  is  the  demon  upon  whom  the  vou- 
dous  call  in  matters  of  love.) 

The  color  that  came  into  Aurora's  cheek  ought  to 
have  suited  Monsieur  precisely. 

"  It  is  an  accident/'  she  feebly  insisted. 

"  Well,"  presently  said  Palmyre,  with  a  pretence  of 
abandoning  her  impression,  "  then  you  want  me  to  work 
you  a  spell  for  money,  do  you  ?  " 

Aurora  nodded,  while  she  still  avoided  the  quadroon's 
glance. 

"  I  know  better,"  thought  the  philosophe.  "  You 
shall  have  the  sort  you  want." 

The  widow  stole  an  upward  glance. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Palmyre,  with  the  manner  of  one  mak 
ing  a  decided  digression,  "  I  have  been  wanting  to  ask 
you  something.  That  evening  at  the  pharmacy — was 
there  a  tall  handsome  gentleman  standing  by  the  coun 
ter." 

"  He  was  standing  on  the  other  side." 

"  Did  you  see  his  face  ?  " 

"  No  ;  his  back  was  turned." 

"  Momselle  Aurore,"  said  Palmyre,  dropping  her 
elbows  upon  her  knees  and  taking  the  lady's  hand  as  if 
the  better  to  secure  the  truth,  "  was  that  the  gentleman 
you  met  at  the  ball  ?  " 

"  My  faith  !  "  said  Aurora,  stretching  her  eyebrows 
upward.  "  I  did  not  think  to  look.  Who  was  it  ?  " 

But  Palmyre  Philosophe  was  not  going  to  give  more 
than  she  got,  even  to  her  old-time  Momselle ;  she 
merely  straightened  back  into  her  chair  with  an  amiable 
face. 

"Who  do  you  think  he  is?"  persisted  Aurora,  after 
a  pause,  smiling  downward  and  toying  with  her  rings. 


BEFORE  SUNSET.  93 

The  quadroon  shrugged. 

They  both  sat  in  reverie  for  a  moment — a  long  mo 
ment  for  such  sprightly  natures — and  Palmyre's  mien 
took  on  a  professional  gravity.  She  presently  pushed 
the  landlord's  letter  under  the  lady's  hands  as  they  lay 
clasped  in  her  lap,  and  a  moment  after  drew  Aurora's 
glance  with  her  large,  strong  eyes  and  asked  : 

"What  shall  we  do?" 

The  lady  immediately  looked  startled  and  alarmed 
and  again  dropped  her  eyes  in  silence.  The  quadroon 
had  to  speak  again. 

"  We  will  burn  a  candle." 

Aurora  trembled. 

"  No,"  she  succeeded  in  saying. 

"Yes,"  said  Palmyre,  "you  must  get  your  rent 
money."  But  the  charm  which  she  was  meditating  had 
no  reference  to  rent  money.  "  She  knows  that,"  thought 
the  vouclou. 

As  she  rose  and  called  her  Congo  slave-woman, 
Aurora  made  as  if  to  protest  further ;  but  utterance 
failed  her.  She  clenched  her  hands  and  prayed  to  Fate 
for  Clotilde  to  come  and  lead  her  away  as  she  had  done 
at  the  apothecary's.  And  well  she  might. 

The  articles  brought  in  by  the  servant  were  simply  a 
little  pound-cake  and  cordial,  a  tumbler  half-filled  with 
the  strop  naturelle  of  the  sugar-cane,  and  a  small  piece 
of  candle  of  the  kind  made  from  the  fragrant  green  wax 
of  the  candleberry  myrtle.  These  were  set  upon  the 
small  table,  the  bit  of  candle  standing,  lighted,  in  the 
tumbler  of  sirup,  the  cake  on  a  plate,  the  cordial  in  a 
wine-glass.  This  feeble  child's  play  was  all  ;  except 
that  as  Palmyre  closed  out  all  daylight  from  the  room 
and  received  the  offering  of  silver  that  "  paid  the  floor  " 


94  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

and  averted  guillons  (interferences  of  outside  imps"), 
Aurora, — alas  !  alas  ! — went  down  upon  her  knees  with 
her  gaze  fixed  upon  the  candle's  flame,  and  silently 
called  on  Assonquer  (the  imp  of  good  fortune)  to  cast 
his  snare  in  her  behalf  around  the  mind  and  heart  of 
• — she  knew  not  whom. 

By  and  by  her  lips,  which  had  moved  at  first,  were  still 
and  she  only  watched  the  burning  wax.  When  the 
flame  rose  clear  and  long  it  was  a  sign  that  Assonquer 
was  enlisted  in  the  coveted  endeavor.  When  the  wick 
sputtered,  the  devotee  trembled  in  fear  of  failure.  Its 
charred  end  curled  down  and  twisted  away  from  her 
and  her  heart  sank  ;  but  the  tall  figure  of  Palmyre  for  a 
moment  came  between,  the  wick  was  snuffed,  the  flame 
tapered  up  again  and  for  a  long  time  burned  a  bright, 
tremulous  cone.  Again  the  wick  turned  down,  but  this 
time  toward  her, — a  propitious  omen, — and  suddenly 
fell  through  the  expended  wax  and  went  out  in  the  sirup. 

The  daylight,  as  Palmyre  let  it  once  more  into  the 
apartment,  showed  Aurora  sadly  agitated.  In  evidence 
of  the  innocence  of  her  fluttering  heart,  guilt,  at  least 
for  the  moment  lay  on  it,  an  appalling  burden. 

"  That  is  all,  Palmyre,  is  it  not  ?  I  am  sure  that  is  all 
— it  must  be  all.  I  cannot  stay  any  longer.  I  wish  I 
was  with  Clotildc  ;  I  have  stayed  too  long." 

"Yes;  all  for  the  present,"  replied  the  quadroon. 
"  Here,  here  is  some  charmed  basil  ;  hold  it  between 
your  lips  as  you  walk— 

"  But  I  am  going  to  my  landlord's  office !  " 

"  Office  ?  Nobody  is  at  his  office  now  ;  it  is  too  late. 
You  would  find  that  your  landlord  had  gone  to  dinner. 
I  will  tell  you,  though,  where  you  must  go.  First  go 
home  ;  eat  your  dinner ;  and  this  evening  [the  Creoles 


BEFORE  SUNSET.  95 

never  say  afternoon],  about  a  half-hour  before  sunset, 
walk  down  Royale  to  the  lower  corner  of  the  Place 
d'Armes,  pass  entirely  around  the  square  and  return  up 
Royale.  Never  look  behind  until  you  get  into  your 
house  again." 

Aurora  blushed  with  shame. 

"  Alone  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  quite  unnerved  and  trem 
ulous. 

"  You  will  seem  to  be  alone  ;  but  I  will  follow  behind 
you  when  you  pass  here.  Nothing  shall  hurt  you.  If 
you  do  that,  the  charm  will  certainly  work  ;  if  you  do 
not " 

The  quadroon's  intentions  were  good.  She  was  deter 
mined  to  see  who  it  was  that  could  so  infatuate  her  dear 
little  Momselle  ;  and,  as  on  such  an  evening  as  the 
present  afternoon  promised  to  merge  into,  all  New 
Orleans  promenaded  on  the  Place  d'Armes  and  the  levee, 
her  charm  was  a  very  practical  one. 

"  And  that  will  bring  the  money,  will  it  ?  "  asked 
Aurora. 

"  It  will  bring  anything  you  want." 

*'  Possible  ?  " 

"  These  things  that  you  want,  Momselle  Aurore,  are 
easy  to  bring.  You  have  no  charms  working  against 
you.  But,  oh  !  I  wish  to  God  I  could  work  the  curse 
/want  to  work  !  "  The  woman's  eyes  blazed,  her  bosom 
heaved,  she  lifted  her  clenched  hand  above  her  head  and 
looked  upward,  crying  :  "  I  would  give  this  right  hand 
off  at  the  wrist  to  catch  A^ricola  Fusilier  where  I  could 

o 

work  him  a  curse  !  But  I  shall  ;  I  shall  some  day  be 
revenged  !  "  She  pitched  her  voice  still  higher.  "  I 
cannot  die  till  I  have  been  !  There  is  nothing  that 
could  kill  me,  I  want  my  revenge  so  bad  !  "  As  suddenly 


9  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

as  she  had  broken  out,  she  hushed,  unbarred  the  door, 
and  with  a  .stern  farewell  smile  saw  Aurora  turn  home 
ward. 

"  Give  me  something  to  eat,  clitfric"  cried  the  ex 
hausted  lady,  dropping  into  Clotilde's  chair  and  trying 
to  die. 

"  Ah  !  maman,  what  makes  you  look  so  sick  ?  " 

Aurora  waved  her  hand  contemptuously  and  gasped. 

"  Did  you  see  him  ?  What  kept  you  so  long-so 
long?" 

"  Ask  me  nothing  ;  I  am  so  enraged  with  disappoint 
ment.  He  was  gone  to  dinner  !  " 

"  Ah  !  my  poor  mother  !  " 

"  And  I  must  go  back  as  soon  as  I  can  take  a  little 
sieste.  I  am  determined  to  see  him  this  very  day." 

"  Ah  !  my  poor  mother  !  " 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ROLLED    IN   THE   DUST. 

"No,  Frowenfeld,"  said  little  Doctor  Keene,  speak 
ing  for  the  after-dinner  loungers,  "  you  must  take  a  little 
human  advice.  Go,  get  the  air  on  the  Plaza.  We  will 
keep  shop  for  you.  Stay  as  long  as  you  like  and  come 
home  in  any  condition  you  think  best."  And  Joseph, 
tormented  into  this  course,  put  on  his  hat  and  went  out. 

"  Hard  to  move  as  a  cow  in  the  moonlight,"  con 
tinued  Doctor  Keene,  "and  knows  just  about  as  much 
of  the  world.  He  wasn't  aware,  until  I  told  him  to-day, 
that  there  are  two  Honore  Grandissimes."  [Laughter.] 

"  Why  did  you  tell  him  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  give  him  anything  but  the  bare  fact.  I 
want  to  see  how  long  it  will  take  him  to  find  out  the 
rest." 

The  Place  d'Armes  offered  amusement  to  every  one 
else  rather  than  to  the  immigrant.  The  family  relation, 
the  most  noticeable  feature  of  its  well-pleased  groups, 
was  to  him  too  painful  a  reminder  of  his  late  losses,  and, 
after  an  honest  endeavor  to  flutter  out  of  the  inner 
twilight  of  himself  into  the  outer  glare  of  a  moving  world, 
he  had  given  up  the  effort  and  had  passed  beyond  the 
square  and  seated  himself  upon  a  rude  bench  which 
encircled  the  trunk  of  a  willow  on  the  levee. 
5 


98  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

The  negress,  who,  resting  near  by  with  a  tray  of 
cakes  before  her,  has  been  for  some  time  contemplating 
the  three-quarter  face  of  her  unconscious  neighbor, 
drops  her  head  at  last  with  a  small,  Ethiopian,  feminine 
laugh.  It  is  a  self-confession  that,  pleasant  as  the  study 
of  his  countenance  is,  to  resolve  that  study  into  know 
ledge  is  beyond  her  powers  ;  and  very  pardonably  so  it 
is,  she  being  but  a  marcJiande  des  gateaux  (an  itinerant 
cake-vender),'  and  he,  she  concludes,  a  man  of  parts. 
There  is  a  purpose,  too,  as  well  as  an  admission,  in  the 
laugh.  She  would  like  to  engage  him  in  conversation. 
But  he  does  not  notice.  Little  supposing  he  is  the 
object  of  even  a  cake-merchant's  attention,  he  is  lost  in 
idle  meditation. 

One  would  guess  his  age  to  be  as  much  as  twenty-six. 
His  face  is  beardless,  of  course,  like  almost  everybody's 
around  him,  and  of  a  German  kind  of  seriousness.  A 
certain  diffidence  in  his  look  may  tend  to  render  him 
unattractive  to  careless  eyes,  the  more  so  since  he  has  a 
slight  appearance  of  self-neglect.  On  a  second  glance, 
his  refinement  shows  out  more  distinctly,  and  one  also 
sees  that  he  is  not  shabby.  The  little  that  seems  lack 
ing  is  woman's  care,  the  brush  of  attentive  fingers  here 
and  there,  the  turning  of  a  fold  in  the  high-collared  coat, 
and  a  mere  touch  on  the  neckerchief  and  shirt-frill.  He 
has  a  decidedly  good  forehead.  His  blue  eyes,  while 
they  are  both  strong  and  modest,  are  noticeable,  too,  as 
betraying  fatigue,  and  the  shade  of  gravity  in  them  is 
deepened  by  a  certain  worn  look  of  excess — in  books  ; 
a  most  unusual  look  in  New  Orleans. in  those  days,  and 
pointedly  out  of  keeping  with  the  scene  which  was 
absorbing  his  attention. 

You  might  mistake  the  time  for  mid-May.     Before  the 


ROLLED   IN    THE   DUST.  99 

view  lies  the  Place  d'Armes  in  its  green-breasted  uniform 
of  new  spring  grass  crossed  diagonally  with  white  shell 
walks  for  facings,  and  dotted  with  the  elite  of  the  city  for 
decorations.  Over  the  line  of  shade-trees  which  marks 
its  farther  boundary,  the  white-topped  twin  turrets  of 
St.  Louis  Cathedral  look  across  it  and  beyond  the  bared- 
site  of  the  removed  battery  (built  by  the  busy  Carondelet 
to  protect  Louisiana  from  herself  and  Kentucky,  and 
razed  by  his  immediate  successors)  and  out  upon  the 
Mississippi,  the  color  of  whose  surface  is  beginning  to 
change  with  the  changing  sky  of  this  beautiful  and 
now  departing  day.  A  breeze,  which  is  almost  early 
June,  and  which  has  been  hovering  over  the  bosom  of 
the  great  river  and  above  the  turf-covered  levee,  ceases, 
as  if  it  sank  exhausted  under  its  burden  of  spring  odors, 
and  in  the  profound  calm  the  cathedral  bell  strikes  the 
sunset  hour.  From  its  neighboring  garden,  the  convent 
of  the  Ursulines  responds  in  a  tone  of  devoutness,  while 
from  the  parapet  of  the  less  pious  little  Fort  St.  Charles, 
the  evening  gun  sends  a  solemn  ejaculation  rumbling 
down  the  "coast"  ;  a  drum  rolls,  the  air  rises  again 
from  the  water  like  a  flock  of  birds,  and  many  in  the 
square  and  on  the  levee's  crown  turn  and  accept  its 
gentle  blowing.  Rising  over  the  levee  willows,  and 
sinking  into  the  streets, — which  are  lower  than  the 
water, — it  flutters  among  the  balconies  and  in  and  out 
of  dim  Spanish  arcades,  and  finally  drifts  away  toward 
that  part  of  the  sky  where  the  sun  is  sinking  behind  the 
low,  unbroken  line  of  forest.  There  is  such  seduction 
in  the  evening  air,  such  sweetness  of  flowers  on  its  every 
motion,  such  lack  of  cold,  or  heat,  or  dust,  or  wet,  that 
the  people  have  no  heart  to  stay  in-doors  ;  nor  is  there 
any  reason  why  they  should.  The  levee  road  is  dotted 


IOO  THE    GRANDISS1MES. 

with  horsemen,  and  the  willow  avenue  on  the  levee's 
crown,  the  whole  short  mile  between  Terre  aux  Boeufs 
gate  on  the  right  and  Tchoupitoulas  gate  on  the  left,  is 
bright  with  promenaders,  although  the  hour  is  brief  and 
there  will  be  no  twilight ;  for,  so  far  from  being  May,  it 
is  merely  that  same  nineteenth  of  which  we  have 
already  spoken, — the  nineteenth  of  Louisiana's  delicious 
February. 

Among  the  throng  were  many  whose  names  were 
going  to  be  written  large  in  history.  There  was  Casa 
Calvo, — Sebastian  de  Casa  Calvo  de  la  Puerta  y 
O'Farril,  Marquis  of  Casa  Calvo, — a  man  then  at  the 
fine  age  of  fifty-three,  elegant,  fascinating,  perfect  in 
Spanish  courtesy  and  Spanish  diplomacy,  rolling  by  in 
a  showy  equipage  surrounded  by  a  clanking  body-guard 
of  the  Catholic  king's  cavalry.  There  was  young  Daniel 
Clark,  already  beginning  to  amass  those  riches  which  an 
age  of  litigation  has  not  to  this  day  consumed  ;  it  was  he 
whom  the  French  colonial  prefect,  Laussat,  in  a  late 
letter  to  France,  had  extolled  as  a  man  whose  "talents 
for  intrigue  were  carried  to  a  rare  degree  of  excellence." 
There  was  Laussat  himself,  in  the  flower  of  his  years, 
sour  with  pride,  conscious  of  great  official  insignificance 
and  full  of  petty  spites — he  yet  tarried  in  a  land  where 
his  beautiful  wife  was  the  "  model  of  taste."  There  was 
that  convivial  old  fox,  Wilkinson,  who  had  plotted  for 
years  with  Miro  and  did  not  sell  himself  and  his  country 
to  Spain  because — as  we  now  say — "  he  found  he  could 
do  better ; "  who  modestly  confessed  himself  in  a 
traitor's  letter  to  the  Spanish  king  as  a  man  "  whose 
head  may  err,  but  whose  heart  cannot  deceive  !  "  and 
who  brought  Governor  Gayoso  to  an  early  death-bed 
by  simply  out-drinking  him.  There  also  was  Edward 


ROLLED  IN   THE  DUST.  IOI 

Livingston,  attorney-at-law,  inseparably  joined  to  the 
mention  of  the  famous  Batture  cases — though  that  was 
later.  There  also  was  that  terror  of  colonial  peculators, 
the  old  ex-Intendant  Morales,  who,  having  quarrelled 
with  every  governor  of  Louisiana  he  ever  saw,  was  now 
snarling  at  Casa  Calvo  from  force  of  habit. 

And  the  Creoles — the  Knickerbockers  of  Louisiana — • 
but  time  would  fail  us.  The  Villeres  and  Destrehans — 
patriots  and  patriots'  sons  ;  the  De  la  Chaise  family  in 
mourning  for  young  Auguste  La  Chaise  of  Kentuckian- 
Louisianian-San  Domingan  history;  the  Livaudaises, 
pcre  et  fits,  of  Haunted  House  fame,  descendants  of  the 
first  pilot  of  the  Belize ;  the  pirate  brothers  Lafitte, 
moving  among  the  best  ;  Marigny  de  Mandeville,  after 
ward  the  marquis  member  of  Congress  ;  the  Davezacs, 
the  Mossys,  the  Boulignys,  the  Labatuts,  the  Bringiers, 
the  De  Trudeaus,  the  De  Macartys,  the  De  la  Houssayes, 
the  De  Lavillebceuvres,  the  Grandpres,  the  Forstalls  ; 
and  the  proselyted  Creoles  :  Etienne  de  Bore  (he  was 
the  father  of  all  such  as  handle  the  sugar-kettle) ;  old 
man  Pitot,  who  became  mayor;  Madame  Pontalba  and 
her  unsuccessful  suitor,  John  McDonough  ;  the  three 
Girods,  the  two  Graviers,  or  the  lone  Julian  Poydras, 
godfather  of  orphan  girls.  Besides  these,  and  among 
them  as  shining  fractions  of  the  community,  the  numerous 
representatives  of  the  not  only  noble,  but  noticeable  and 
ubiquitous,  family  of  Grandissime  :  Grandissimes  simple 
and  Grandissimes  compound  ;  Brahmins,  Mandarins  and 
Fusiliers.  One,  'Polyte  by  name,  a  light,  gay  fellow, 
with  classic  features,  hair  turning  gray,  is  standing  and 
conversing  with  this  group  here  by  the  mock-cannon 
inclosure  of  the  grounds.  Another,  his  cousin,  Charlie 
Mandarin,  a  tall,  very  slender,  bronzed  gentleman  in  a 


IO2  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

flannel  hunting-shirt  and  buckskin  leggins,  is  walking, 
in  moccasins,  with  a  sweet  lady  in  whose  tasteful  attire 
feminine  scrutiny,  but  such  only,  might  detect  economy, 
but  whose  marked  beauty  of  yesterday  is  retreating 
and  re-appearing  in  the  flock  of  children  who  are  noisily 
running  round  and  round  them,  nominally  in  the  care 
of  three  fat  and  venerable  black  nurses.  Another,  yon 
der,  Theophile  Grandissime,  is  whipping  his  stockings 
with  his  cane,  a  lithe  youngster  in  the  height  of  the 
fashion  (be  it  understood  the  fashion  in  New  Orleans  was 
five  years  or  so  behind  Paris),  with  a  joyous,  noble  face, 
a  merry  tongue  and  giddy  laugh,  and  a  confession  of  ex 
periences  which  these  pages,  fortunately  for  their  moral 
tone,  need  not  recount.  All  these  were  the-re  and  many 
others. 

This  throng,  shifting  like  the  fragments  of  colored 
glass  in  the  kaleidoscope,  had  its  far-away  interest  to 
the  contemplative  Joseph.  To  them  he  was  of  little 
interest,  or  none.  Of  the  many  passers,  scarcely  an 
occasional  one  greeted  him,  and  such  only  with  an  ex- 
tremly  polite  and  silent  dignity  which  seemed  to  him 
like  saying  something  of  this  sort:  "Most  noble  alien, 
give  you  good-day — stay  where  you  are.  Profoundly 
yours — 

Two  men  came  through  the  Place  d'Armes  on  con 
spicuously  fine  horses.  One  it  is  not  necessary  to 
describe.  The  other,  a  man  of  perhaps  thirty-three  or 
thirty-four  years  of  age,  was  extremely  handsome  and 
well  dressed,  the  martial  fashion  of  the  day  showing  his 
tall  and  finely  knit  figure  to  much  advantage.  He  sat 
his  horse  with  an  uncommon  grace,  and,  as  he  rode 
beside  his  companion,  spoke  and  gave  ear  by  turns  with 
an  easy  dignity  sufficient  of  itself  to  have  attracted 


ROLLED   IN   THE  DUST.  1 03 

popular  observation.  It  was  the  apothecary's  unknown 
friend.  Frowenfeld  noticed  them  while  they  were  yet 
in  the  middle  of  the  grounds.  He  could  hardly  have 
failed  to  do  so,  for  some  one  close  beside  his  bench  in 
undoubted  allusion  to  one  of  the  approaching  figures  ex 
claimed  : 

"  Here  comes  Honore  Grandissime." 

Moreover,  at  that  moment  there  was  a  slight  unwonted 
stir  on  the  Place  d'Armes.  It  began  at  the  farther  cor 
ner  of  the  square,  hard  by  the  Principal,  and  spread  so 
quickly  through  the  groups  near  about,  that  in  a  minute 
the  entire  company  were  quietly  made  aware  of  some 
thing  going  notably  wrong  in  their  immediate  presence. 
There  was  no  running  to  see  it.  There  seemed  to  be 
not  so  much  as  any  verbal  communication  of  the  matter 
from  mouth  to  mouth.  Rather  a  consciousness  appeared 
to  catch  noiselessly  from  one  to  another  as  the  knowledge 
of  human  intrusion  comes  to  groups  of  deer  in  a  park. 
There  was  the  same  elevating  of  the  head  here  and  there, 
the  same  rounding  of  beautiful  eyes.  Some  stared, 
others  slowly  approached,  while  others  turned  and 
moved  away ;  but  a  common  indignation  was  in  the 
breast  of  that  thing  dreadful  everywhere,  but  terrible  in 
Louisiana,  the  Majority.  For  there,  in  the  presence  of 
those  good  citizens,  before  the  eyes  of  the  proudest  and 
fairest  mothers  and  daughters  of  New  Orleans,  glaringly, 
on  the  open  Plaza,  the  Creole  whom  Joseph  had  met  by 
the  graves  in  the  field,  Honore  Grandissime,  the  utter 
most  flower  on  the  topmost  branch  of  the  tallest  family 
tree  ever  transplanted  from  France  to  Louisiana, 
Honore, — the  worshiped,  the  magnificent, — in  the  broad 
light  of  the  sun's  going  down,  rode  side  by  side  with 
the  Yankee  governor  and  was  not  ashamed ! 


IO4  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

Joseph,  on  his  bench,  sat  contemplating  the  two  parties 
to  this  scandal  as  they  came  toward  him.  Their  horses' 
flanks  were  damp  from  some  pleasant  gallop,  but  their 
present  gait  was  the  soft,  mettlesome  movement  of 
animals  who  will  even  submit  to  walk  if  their  masters 
insist.  As  they  wheeled  out  of  the  broad  diagonal  path 
that  crossed  the  square,  and  turned  toward  him  in  the 
highway,  he  fancied  that  the  Creole  observed  him.  He 
was  not  mistaken.  As  they  seemed  about  to  pass  the 
spot  where  he  sat,  M.  Grandissime  interrupted  the 
governor  with  a  word  and  turning  his  horse's  head,  rode 
up  to  the  bench,  lifting  his  hat  as  he  came. 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Frhowenfeld." 

Joseph,  looking  brighter  than  when  he  sat  unaccosted, 
rose  and  blushed. 

"  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,  you  know  my  uncle  ve'y  well,  I 
believe — Agrhicole  Fusilier — long  beard  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  yes,  sir,  certainly." 

"Well,  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,  I  shall  be  much  obliged  if 
you  will  tell  him — that  is,  should  you  meet  him  this 
evening — that  I  wish  to  see  him.  If  you  will  be  so 
kind?" 

"  Oh  !  yes,  sir,  certainly." 

Frowenfeld's  diffidence  made  itself  evident  in  this 
reiterated  phrase. 

"I  do  not  know  that  you  will  see  him,  but  if  you 
should,  you  know " 

"  Oh,  certainly,  sir  !  " 

The  two  paused  a  single  instant,  exchanging  a  smile 
of  amiable  reminder  from  the  horseman  and  of  bashful 
but  pleased  acknowledgment  from  the  one  who  saw  his 
precepts  being  reduced  to  practice. 

"  Well,  good-evening,  Mr.  Frhowenfeld." 


ROLLED  IN   THE   DUST.  IO$ 

M.  Grandissime  lifted  his  hat  and  turned.  Frowenfeld 
sat  down. 

"  Bon  zou,  Michd  Honore  !  "  called  the  marchande. 

"  Comment  to  yd,  Clemencef  " 

The  merchant  waved  his  hand  as  he  rode  away  with 
his  companion. 

"  Beau  Miche,  la"  said  the  marchande,  catching 
Joseph's  eye. 

He  smiled  his  ignorance  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Dass  one  fine  gen'leman,"  she  repeated.  "  Mo 
pa? le  Angle,"  she  added  with  a  chuckle. 

"  You  know  him  ?  " 

"Oh!  yass,  sah ;  Mawse  Honore  knows  me,  yass. 
All  de  gen'lemens  knows  me.  I  sell  de  calas ;  maw- 
nin's  sell  calas,  evenin's  sell  zinzer-cake.  You  know 
me  "  (a  fact  which  Joseph  had  all  along  been  aware 
of).  "  Dat  me  w'at  pass  in  rue  Royale  ev'y  mawnin' 
holl'in'  'Be  calas  touts  chaiids,'  an'  singin' ;  don't  you 
know  ?  " 

The  enthusiasm  of  an  artist  overcame  any  timidity  she 
might  have  been  supposed  to  possess,  and,  waiving  the 
formality  of  an  invitation,  she  began,  to  Frowenfeld's  con 
sternation,  to  sing,  in  a  loud,  nasal  voice. 

But  the  performance,  long  familiar,  attracted  no  pub 
lic  attention,  and  he  for  whose  special  delight  it  was  in 
tended  had  taken  an  attitude  of  disclaimer  and  was  again 
contemplating  the  quiet  groups  of  the  Place  d'Armes  and 
the  pleasant  hurry  of  the  levee  road. 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  "  persisted  the  woman.  "  Yass, 
sah,  dass  me  ;  I's  Clemence." 

But  Frowenfeld  was  looking  another  way. 

"  You  know  my  boy,"  suddenly  said  she. 

Frowenfeld  looked  at  her. 
5* 


IO6  THE    GRANDISS1MES. 

"  Yass,  sah.  Dat  boy  w'at  bring  you  de  box  of  basi 
lic  lass  Chrismus  ;  dass  my  boy." 

She  straightened  her  cakes  on  the  tray  and  made  some 
changes  in  their  arrangement  that  possibly  were  impor 
tant. 

"  I  learned  to  speak  English  in  Fijinny.     Bawn  dah." 

She  looked  steadily  into  the  apothecary's  absorbed 
countenance  for  a  full  minute,  then  let  her  eyes  wander 
down  the  highway.  The  human  tide  was  turning  city 
ward.  Presently  she  spoke  again. 

"  Folks  comin'  home  a'ready,  yass." 

Her  hearer  looked  down  the  road. 

Suddenly  a  voice  that,  once  heard,  was  always  known, 
— deep  and  pompous,  as  if  a  lion  roared, — sounded  so 
close  behind  him  as  to  startle  him  half  from  his  seat. 

"  Is  this  a  corporeal  man,  or  must  I  doubt  my  eyes? 
Hah  !  Professor  Frowenfeld  !  "  it  said. 

"  Mr.  Fusilier  !  "  exclaimed  Frowenfeld  in  a  subdued 
voice,  while  he  blushed  again  and  looked  at  the  new 
comer  with  that  sort  of  awe  which  children  experience 
in  a  menagerie. 

"  Citizen  Fusilier,"  said  the  lion. 

Agricola  indulged  to  excess  the  grim  hypocrisy  of 
brandishing  the  catch-words  of  new-fangled  reforms  ; 
they  served  to  spice  a  breath  that  was  strong  with  the 
praise  of  the  "  superior  liberties  of  Europe," — those  old, 
cast-iron  tyrannies  to  get  rid  of  which  America  was  set 
tled. 

Frowenfeld  smiled  amusedly  and  apologetically  at  the 
same  moment. 

"  I  am  glad  to  meet  you.  I— 
He  was  going  on  to  give  Ilonorc  Grandissime's  mes 
sage,  but  was  interrupted. 


ROLLED   IN  THE   DUST.  IO/ 

"  My  young  friend,"  rumbled  the  old  man  in  his 
deepest  key,  smiling  emotionally  and  holding  and  sol 
emnly  continuing  to  shake  Joseph's  hand,  "  I  am  sure 
you  are.  You  ought  to  thank  God  that  you  have  my 
acquaintance." 

Frowenfeld  colored  to  the  temples. 

"  I  must  acknowledge —     "  he  began. 

"Ah!"  growled  the  lion,  "your  beautiful  modesty 
leads  you  to  misconstrue  me,  sir.  You  pay  my  judg 
ment  no  compliment.  I  know  your  worth,  sir  ;  I  merely 
meant,  sir,  that  in  me — poor,  humble  me — you  have  se 
cured  a  sympathizer  in  your  tastes  and  plans.  Agricola 
Fusilier,  sir,  is  not  a  cock  on  a  dunghill,  to  find  a  jewel 
and  then  scratch  it  aside." 

The  smile  of  diffidence,  but  not  the  flush,  passed  from 
the  young  man's  face,  and  he  sat  down  forcibly. 

"  You  jest,"  he  said. 

The  reply  was  a  majestic  growl. 

"I  never  jest !  "  The  speaker  half  sat  down,  then 
straightened  up  again.  "Ah,  the  Marquis  of  Casa 
Calvo  ! — I  must  bow  to  him,  though  an  honest  man's 
bow  is  more  than  he  deserves." 

"  More  than  he  deserves  ?  "  was  Frowenfeld's  query. 

"  More  than  he  deserves  !  "  was  the  response. 

"  What  has  he  done  ?     I  have  never  heard — 

The  denunciator  turned  upon  Frowenfeld  his  most 
royal  frown,  and  retorted  with  a  question  which  still 
grows  wild  in  Louisiana  : 

"  What  " — he  seemed  to  shake  his  mane — "  what  has 
he  not  done,  sir  ?  "  and  then  he  withdrew  his  frown 
slowly,  as  if  to  add,  "You'll  be  careful  next  time  how 
you  cast  doubt  upon  a  public  official's  guilt." 

The  marquis's  cavalcade  came  briskly  jingling  by.    Fro- 


108  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

wenfeld  saw  within  the  carriage  two  men,  one  in  citizen's 
dress,  the  other  in  a  brilliant  uniform.  The  latter  leaned 
forward,  and,  with  a  cordiality  which  struck  the  young 
spectator  as  delightful,  bowed.  The  immigrant  glanced 
at  Citizen  Fusilier,  expecting  to  see  the  greeting  returned 
with  great  haughtiness ;  instead  of  which  that  person 
uncovered  his  leonine  head,  and,  with  a  solemn  sweep 
of  his  cocked  hat,  bowed  half  his  length.  Nay,  he  more 
than  bowed,  he  bowed  down — so  that  the  action  hurt 
Frowenfeld  from  head  to  foot. 

"  What  large  gentleman  was  that  sitting  on  the  other 
side  ?  "  asked  the  young  man,  as  his  companion  sat  down 
with  the  air  of  having  finished  an  oration. 

"  No  gentleman  at  all  !  "  thundered  the  citizen. 
"  That  fellow  "  (beetling  frown),  "  ihatfetfow  is  Edward 
Livingston." 

"  The  great  lawyer  ?  " 

"  The  great  villain  !  " 

Frowenfeld  himself  frowned. 

The  old  man  laid  a  hand  upon  his  junior's  shoulder 
and  growled  benignantly  : 

"  My  young  friend,  your  displeasure  delights  me  !  " 

The  patience  with  which  Frowenfeld  was  bearing  all 
this  forced  a  chuckle  and  shake  of  the  head  from  the 
marchande. 

Citizen  Fusilier  went  on  speaking  in  a  manner  that 
might  be  construed  either  as  address  or  soliloquy,  ^gesti 
culating  much  and  occasionally  letting  out  a  fervent  word 
that  made  passers  look  around  and  Joseph  inwardly 
wince.  With  eyes  closed  and  hands  folded  on  the  top 
of  the  knotted  staff  which  he  carried  but  never  used,  he 
delivered  an  apostrophe  to  the  "  spotless  soul  of  youth," 
enticed  by  the  "  spirit  of  adventure  "  to  "  launch  away 


ROLLED   IN   THE  DUST. 

upon  the  unploughed  sea  of  the  future  !  "  He  lifted  one 
hand  and  smote  the  back  of  the  other  solemnly,  once, 
twice,  and  again,  nodding  his  head  faintly  several  times 
without  opening  his  eyes,  as  who  should  say,  "Very 
impressive  ;  go  on,"  and  so  resumed  ;  spoke  of  this  spot 
less  soul  of  youth  searching  under  unknown  latitudes  for 
the  "  sunken  treasures  of  experience  "  ;  indulged,  as  the 
reporters  of  our  day  would  say,  in  "many  beautiful 
flights  of  rhetoric,"  and  finally  depicted  the  loathing 
with  which  the  spotless  soul  of  youth  "  recoils  !  " — suit 
ing  the  action  to  the  word  so  emphatically  as  to  make  a 
pretty  little  boy  who  stood  gaping  at  him  start  back — 
"  on  encountering  in  the  holy  chambers  of  public  office  the 
vultures  hatched  in  the  nests  of  ambition  and  avarice  !  " 

Three  or  four  persons  lingered  carelessly  near  by  with 
ears  wide  open.  Frowenfeld  felt  that  he  must  bring  this 
to  an  end,  and,  like  any  young  person  who  has  learned 
neither  deceit  nor  disrespect  to  seniors,  he  attempted  to 
reason  it  down. 

"  You  do  not  think  many  of  our  public  men  are  dis 
honest  !  " 

"Sir!"  replied  the  rhetorician,  with  a  patronizing 
smile,  "  h-you  must  be  thinking  of  France  !  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  of  Louisiana." 

"  Louisiana  !  Dishonest  ?  All,  sir,  all.  They  are  all 
as  corrupt  as  Olympus,  sir  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Frowenfeld,  with  more  feeling  than  was 
called  for,  "  there  is  one  who,  I  feel  sure,  is  pure.  I 
know  it  by  his  face  !  " 

The  old  man  gave  a  look  of  stern  interrogation. 

"  Governor  Claiborne." 

"  Ye  e-e  g-hods  !  Claiborne!  Claiborne!  Why,  he 
is  a  Yankee  !  " 


HO  THE    GRANDISSIMES.  t 

The  lion  glowered  over  the  lamb  like  a  thunder-cloud. 

"  He  is  a  Virginian,"  said  Frowenfeld. 

"  He  is  an  American,  and  no  American  can  be  honest." 

"  You  are  prejudiced,"  exclaimed  the  young  man. 

Citizen  Fusilier  made  himself  larger. 

"  What  is  prejudice  ?     I  do  not  know." 

"  I  am  an  American  myself,"  said  Frowenfeld,  rising 
up  with  his  face  burning. 

The  citizen  rose  up  also,  but  unruffled. 

"  My  beloved  young  friend,"  laying  his  hand  heavily 
upon  the  other's  shoulder,  "  you  are  not.  You  were 
merely  born  in  America." 

But  Frowenfeld  was  not  appeased. 

"  Hear  me  through,"  persisted  the  flatterer.  "  You 
were  merely  born  in  America.  I,  too,  was  born  in  Ame 
rica  ;  but  will  any  man  responsible  for  his  opinion  mis 
take  me — Agricola  Fusilier — for  an  American  ?  " 

He  clutched  his  cane  in  the  middle  and  glared  around, 
but  no  person  seemed  to  be  making  the  mistake  to 
which  he  so  scornfully  alluded,  and  he  was  about  to 
speak  again  when  an  outcry  of  alarm  coming  simultane 
ously  from  Joseph  and  the  marcJiandc  directed  his  atten 
tion  to  a  lady  in  danger. 

The  scene,  as  afterward  recalled  to  the  mind  of  the  un- 
American  citizen,  included  the  figures  of  his  nephew  and 
the  new  governor  returning  up  the  road  at  a  canter  ; 
but,  at  the  time,  he  knew  only  that  a  lady  of  unmistaka 
ble  gentility,  her  back  toward  him,  had  just  gathered 
her  robes  and  started  to  cross  the  road,  when  there  was 
a  general  cry  of  warning,  and  the  marchande  cried 
"garde  choul !  "  while  the  lady  leaped  directly  into  the 
danger  and  his  nephew's  horse  knocked  her  to  the 
earth  ! 


ROLLED   IN   THE  DUST.  Ill 

Though  there  was  a  rush  to  the  rescue  from  every 
direction,  she  was  on  her  feet  before  any  one  could  reach 
her,  her  lips  compressed,  nostrils  dilated,  cheek  burning, 
and  eyes  flashing  a  lady's  wrath  upon  a  dismounted 
horseman.  It  was  the  governor.  As  the  crowd  had 
rushed  in,  the  startled  horses,  from  whom  the  two  riders 
had  instantly  leaped,  drew  violently  back,  jerking  their 
masters  with  them  and  leaving  only  the  governor  in 
range  of  the  lady's  angry  eye. 

"  Mademoiselle  !  "  he  cried,  striving  to  reach  her. 
She  pointed  him  in  gasping  indignation  to  his  empty 
saddle,  and,  as  the  crowd  farther  separated  them,  waved 
away  all  permission  to  apologize  and  turned  her  back. 
"  Hah!  "  cried  the  crowd,  echoing  her  humor. 
"Lady,"  interposed  the  governor,  "do  not  drive  us 

to  the  rudeness  of  leaving " 

"  Animal,  vous  !  "  cried  half  a  dozen,  and  the  lady 
gave  him  such  a  look  of  scorn  that  he  did  not  finish  his 
sentence. 

"  Open  the  way,  there,"  called  a  voice  in  French. 
It  was  Honore  Grandissime.  But  just  then  he  saw 
that  the  lady  found  the  best  of  protectors,  and  the  two 
horsemen,  having  no  choice,  remounted  and  rode  away. 
As  they  did  so,  M.  Grandissime  called  something  hur 
riedly  to  Frowenfeld,  on  whose  arm  the  lady  hung,  con 
cerning  the  care  of  her  ;  but  his  words  were  lost  in  the 
short  yell  of  derision  sent  after  himself  and  his  compan 
ion  by  the  crowd. 

Old  Agricola,  meanwhile,  was  having  a  trouble  of  his 
own.  He  had  followed  Joseph's  wake  as  he  pushed 
through  the  throng  ;  but  as  the  lady  turned  her  face  he 
wheeled  abruptly  away.  This  brought  again  in  view 
the  bench  he  had  just  left,  whereupon  he,  in  turn,  cried 


112  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

out,  and,  dashing  through  all  obstructions,  rushed  back 
to  it,  lifting  his  ugly  staff  as  he  went  and  flourishing  it 
in  the  face  of  Palmyre  Philosophe. 

She  stood  beside  the  seat  with  the  smile  of  one  foiled 
and  intensely  conscious  of  peril,  but  neither  frightened 
nor  suppliant,  holding  back  with  her  eyes  the  execution 
of  Agricola's  threat  against  her  life. 

Presently  she  drew  a  short  step  backward,  then  another, 
then  a  third,  and  then  turned  and  moved  away  down 
the  avenue  of  willows,  followed  for  a  few  steps  by  the 
lion  and  by  the  laughing  comment  of  the  marchande, 
who  stood  looking  after  them  with  her  tray  balanced  on 
her  head. 

"  Ya,  ya  !  ye  connais  voudou  bien  /  "  * 

The  old  man  turned  to  rejoin  his  companion.  The 
day  was  rapidly  giving  place  to  night  and  the  people 
were  withdrawing  to  their  homes.  He  crossed  the 
levee,  passed  through  the  Place  d'Armes  and  on  into 
the  city  without  meeting  the  object  of  his  search.  For 
Joseph  and  the  lady  had  hurried  off  together. 

As  the  populace  floated  away  in  knots  of  three,  four 
and  five,  those  who  had  witnessed  mademoiselle's  (?) 
mishap  told  it  to  those  who  had  not ;  explaining  that  it 
was  the  accursed  Yankee  governor  who  had  designedly 
driven  his  horse  at  his  utmost  speed  against  the  fair  vic 
tim  (some  of  them  butted  against  their  hearers  by  way 
of  illustration)  ;  that  the  fiend  had  then  maliciously 
laughed  ;  that  this  was  all  the  Yankees  came  to  New 
Orleans  for,  and  that  there  was  an  understanding  among 
them — "  Understanding,  indeed  !  "  exclaimed  one, 
"They  have  instructions  from  the  President!" — that 

*   "  They're  up  in  the  voudou  arts." 


ROLLED  IN   THE   DUST.  113 

unprotected  ladies  should  be  run  down  wherever  over 
taken.  If  you  didn't  believe  it  you  could  ask  the  ty 
rant,  Claiborne,  himself;  he  made  no  secret  of  it.  One 
or  two- — but  they  were  considered  by  others  extrava 
gant — testified  that,  as  the  lady  fell,  they  had  seen  his 
face  distorted  with  a  horrid  delight,  and  had  heard  him 
cry  :  "  Daz  de  way  to  knog  them  !  " 

"  But  how  came  a  lady  to  be  out  on  Jhe  levee,  at  sun 
set,  on  foot  and  alone  ?  "  asked  a  citizen,  and  another 
replied — both  using  the  French  of  the  late  province : 

"As  for  being  on  foot" — a  shrug.  "But  she  was 
not  alone  ;  she  had  a  milatraisse  behind  her." 

"  Ah  !  so;  that  was  well." 

"But — ha,  ha! — the  milatraisse,  seeing  her  mistress 
out  of  danger,  takes  the  opportunity  to  try  to  bring  the 
curse  upon  Agricola  Fusilier  by  sitting  down  where  he 
had  just  risen  up,  and  had  to  get  away  from  him  as 
quickly  as  possible  to  save  her  own  skull." 

"  And  left  the  lady  ?  " 

"Yes;  and  who  took  her  to  her  home  at  last,  but 
Frowenfeld,  the  apothecary  !  " 

"  Ho,  ho  !  the  astrologer  !  We  ought  to  hang  that 
fellow." 

"  With  his  books  tied  to  his  feet,"  suggested  a  third 
citizen.  "It  is  no  more  than  we  owe  to  the  community 
to  go  and  smash  his  show-window.  He  had  better  be 
have  himself.  Come,  gentlemen,  a  little  tafia  will  do 
us  good.  When  shall  we  ever  get  through  these  excit 
ing  times  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

STARLIGHT   IN   THE   RUE   CHARTRES. 

"  OH  !  M'sieur  Frowenfel',  tague  me  ad  home  ! " 

It  was  Aurora,  who  caught  the  apothecary's  arm  ve 
hemently  in  both  her  hands  with  a  look  of  beautiful 
terror.  And  whatever  Joseph's  astronomy  might  have 
previously  taught  him  to  the  contrary,  he  knew  by  his 
senses  that  the  earth  thereupon  turned  entirely  over 
three  times  in  two  seconds. 

His  confused  response,  though  unintelligible,  an 
swered  all  purposes,  as  the  lady  found  herself  the  next 
moment  hurrying  across  the  Place  d'Armes  close  to  his 
side,  and  as  they  by-and-by  passed  its  farther  limits  she 
began  to  be  conscious  that  she  was  clinging  to  her  pro 
tector  as  though  she  would  climb  up  and  hide  under  his 
elbow.  As  they  turned  up  the  rue  Chartres  she  broke 
the  silence. 

"  Oh  !-h  !  ''—breathlessly,—"  'h  !— M'sieur  Frowenf 
— you  walkin'  so  faz  !  " 

"  Oh  !  "  echoed  Frowenfeld,  "  I  did  not  know  what 
I  was  doing." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha,"  laughed  the  lady,  "  me,  too,  juz  de 
sem  lag  you  !  attendee ;  wait." 

They  halted  ;  a  moment's  deft  manipulation  of  a  veil 
turned  it  into  a  wrapping  for  her  neck. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  oo  dad  man  was  ?  You  know '  im  ?  " 


STARLIGHT  IN   THE  RUE    CHARTRES.  115 

She  returned  her  hand  to  Frowenfeld's  arm  and  they 
moved  on. 

"  The  one  who  spoke  to  you,  or — you  know  the  one 
who  got  near  enough  to  apologize  is  not  the  one  whose 
horse  struck  you  !  " 

"  I  din  know.  But  oo  dad  odder  one  ?  I  saw  h-only 
'is  back,  bud  I  thing  it  is  de  sem " 

She  identified  it  with  the  back  that  was  turned  to  her 
during  her  last  visit  to  Frowenfeld's  shop  ;  but  finding 
herself  about  to  mention  a  matter  so  nearly  connected 
with  the  purse  of  gold,  she  checked  herself ;  but  Frow- 
enfeld,  eager  to  say  a  good  word  for  his  acquaintance, 
ventured  to  extol  his  character  while  he  concealed  his 
name. 

"  While  I  have  never  been  introduced  to  him,  I  have 
some  acquaintance  with  him,  and  esteem  him  a  noble 
gentleman." 

"  Were  you  meet  him  ?  " 

"I  met  him  first,"  he  said,  "at  the  graves  of  my 
parents  and  sisters." 

There  was  a  kind  of  hush  after  the  mention,  and  the 
lady  made  no  reply. 

"  It  was  some  weeks  after  my  loss,"  resumed  Frowen- 
feld. 

"  In  wad  cimeticre  dad  was  ?  " 

"  In  no  cemetery — being  Protestants,  you  know — 

"  Ah,  yes,  sir  !  "  with  a  gentle  sigh. 

"The  physician  who  attended  me  procured  permis 
sion  to  bury  them  on  some  private  land  below  the 
city." 

"  Not  in  de  groun'  ?  "  * 

*  Only  Jews  and  paupers  are  buried  in  the  ground  in  New  Orleans. 


Il6  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"Yes  ;  that  was  my  father's  expressed  wish  when  he 
died." 

"You  'ad  de  fivver  ?  Oo  nurse  you  w'en  you  was 
sick  ?  " 

"  An  old  hired  negress." 

"  Dad  was  all  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Hm-m-m  !  "  she  said  piteously,  and  laughed  in  her 
sleeve. 

Who  could  hope  to  catch  and  reproduce  the  continu 
ous  lively  thrill  which  traversed  the  frame  of  the  es 
caped  book-worm  as  every  moment  there  was  repeated 
to  his  consciousness  the  knowledge  that  he  was  walking 
across  the  vault  of  heaven  with  the  evening  star  on  his 
arm — at  least,  that  he  was,  at  her  instigation,  killing 
time  along  the  dim,  ill-lighted  trottoirs  of  the  rue  Char- 
tres,  with  Aurora  listening  sympathetically  at  his  side. 
But  let  it  go  ;  also  the  sweet  broken  English  with  which 
she  now  and  then  interrupted  him  ;  also  the  inward, 
hidden  sparkle  of  her  dancing  Gallic  blood  ;  her  low, 
merry  laugh  ;  the  roguish  mental  reservation  that  lurked 
behind  her  graver  speeches  ;  the  droll  bravados  she  ut 
tered  against  the  powers  that  be,  as  with  timid  fingers 
he  brushed  from  her  shoulder  a  little  remaining  dust  of 
the  late  encounter — these  things,  we  say,  we  let  go, — 
as  we  let  butterflies  go  rather  than  pin  them  to  paper. 

They  had  turned  into  the  rue  Bienville,  and  were 
walking  toward  the  river,  Frowenfekl  in  the  midst  of  a 
long  sentence,  when  a  low  cry  of  tearful  delight  sounded 
in  front  of  them,  some  one  in  long  robes  glided  forward, 
and  he  found  his  arm  relieved  of  its  burden  and  that 
burden  transferred  to  the  bosom  and  passionate  em 
brace  of  another — we  had  almost  said  a  fairer — Creole, 


STARLIGHT  IN   THE   RUE    CHARTRES.  1 1/ 

amid  a  bewildering  interchange  of  kisses  and  a  pelting 
shower  of  Creole  French. 

A  moment  after,  Frowenfeld  found  himself  introduced 
to  "  my  clotter,  Clotilde,"  who  all  at  once  ceased  her 
demonstrations  of  affection  and  bowed  to  him  with  a 
majestic  sweetness,  that  seemed  one  instant  grateful  and 
the  next,  distant. 

"  I  can  hardly  understand  that  you  are  not  sisters," 
said  Frowenfeld,  a  little  awkwardly. 

"  Ah  !  ecoutez  /  "  exclaimed  the  younger. 

"Ah!  par  exemple /"  cried  the  elder,  and  they 
laughed  down  each  other's  throats,  while  the  immigrant 
blushed. 

This  encounter  was  presently  followed  by  a  silent  sur 
prise  when  they  stopped  and  turned  before  the  door  of 
No.  19,  and  Frowenfeld  contrasted  the  women  with 
their  painfully  humble  dwelling.  But  therein  is  where 
your  true  Creole  was,  and  still  continues  to  be,  properly, 
yea,  delightfully  un-American  ;  the  outside  of  his  house 
may  be  as  rough  as  the  outside  of  a  bird's  nest  ;  it  is 
the  inside  that  is  for  the  birds  ;  and  the  front  room  of 
this  house,  when  the  daughter  presently  threw  open  the 
batten  shutters  of  its  single  street  door,  looked  as  bright 
and  happy,  with  its  candelabras  glittering  on  the  mantel, 
and  its  curtains  of  snowy  lace,  as  its  bright-eyed  tenants. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  if  you  pliz  to  come  in,"  said 
Aurora,  and  the  timid  apothecary  would  have  bravely 
accepted  the  invitation,  but  for  a  quick  look  which  he  saw 
the  daughter  give  the  mother  ;  whereupon  he  asked,  in 
stead,  permission  to  call  at  some  future  day,  and  re 
ceived  the  cordial  leave  of  Aurora  and  another  bow 
from  Clotilde. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

THAT   NIGHT. 

Do  we  not  fail  to  accord  to  our  nights  their  true 
value  ?  We  are  ever  giving  to  our  days  the  credit  and 
blame  of  all  we  do  and  mis-do,  forgetting  those  silent, 
glimmering  hours  when  plans — and  sometimes  plots — 
are  laid ;  when  resolutions  are  formed  or  changed  ; 
when  heaven,  and  sometimes  heaven's  enemies,  are  in 
voked  ;  when  anger  and  evil  thoughts  are  recalled,  and 
sometimes  hate  made  to  inflame  and  fester  ;  when  prob 
lems  are  solved,  riddles  guessed,  and  things  made  ap 
parent  in  the  dark,  which  day  refused  to  reveal.  Our 
nights  are  the  keys  to  our  days.  They  explain  them. 
They  are  also  the  day's  correctors.  Night's  leisure  un 
tangles  the  mistakes  of  day's  haste.  We  should  not  at 
tempt  to  comprise  our  pasts  in  the  phrase,  "  in  those 
days;"  we  should  rather  say  "in  those  days  and 
nights." 

That  night  was  along-remembered  one  to  the  apothe 
cary  of  the  rue  Royale.  But  it  was  after  he  had  closed 
his  shop,  and  in  his  back  room  sat  pondering  the  un 
usual  experiences  of  the  evening,  that  it  began  to  be,  in 
a  higher  degree,  a  night  of  events  to  most  of  those 
persons  who  had  a  part  in  its  earlier  incidents. 

That    Honor6    Grandissime    whom    Frowenfeld   had 


THAT  NIGHT.  119 

only  this  day  learned  to  know  as  the  Honore  Grandis- 
sime  and  the  young  governor-general  were  closeted 
together. 

"  What  can  you  expect,  my-de-seh  ?  "  the  Creole  was 
asking,  as  they  confronted  each  other  in  the  smoke  of 
their  choice  tobacco.  "  Rhememba,  they  ah  citizens  by 
compulsion.  You  say  yo'  best  and  wisest  law  is  that 
one  prhohibiting  the  slave-trhade  ;  my-de-seh,  I  assu'e 
you,  prhivately,  I  agrhee  with  you  ;  but  they  abhaw  yo' 
law  ! 

"  Yo'  prhincipal  dangeh — at  least,  I  mean  difficulty — 
is  this  :  that  the  Louisianais  themselves,  some  in  pu'e 
lawlessness,  some  through  l^ss  of  office,  some  in  a  vague 
hope  of  prheserhving  the  old  condition  of  things,  will 
not  only  hold  off  frhom  all  pa'ticipation  in  yo'  gove'n- 
ment,  but  will  make  all  sympathy  with  it,  all  advocacy 
of  its  prhinciples,  and  especially  all  office-holding  unher-h 
it,  odious — disrhcputable — infamous.  You  may  find 
yo'self  constrhained  to  fill  yo'  offices  with  men  who  can 
face  down  the  contumely  of  a  whole  people.  You  know 
what  such  men  generhally  ah.  One  out  of  a  hundrhed 
may  be  a  morhal  he-rho — the  ninety-nine  will  be  scamps  ; 
and  the  morhal  he-rho  will  most  likely  get  his  brhains 
blown  out  ea'ly  in  the  day. 

"Count  O'Reilly,  when  he  established  the  Spanish 
powah  heah  thirty-five  yea's  ago,  cut  a  simila'  knot  with 
the  executiona's  swode  ;  but,  my-de-seh,  you  ah  heah 
to  establish  a  frhee-ee  gove'nment  ;  and  how  can  you 
make  it  frhee-a  than  the  people  wish  it  ?  There-h  is  yo' 
rhiddle  !  They  hold  off  and  say,  '  Make  yo'  gove'nment 
as  frhee  as  you  can,  but  do  not  ask  us  to  help  you  ;  '  and 
befo'  you  know  it  you  have  no  rhetaine's  but  a  gang  of 
shameless  mehcenarhies,  who  will  deseht  you  wheneva 


I2O  THE    GRANDISS1MES. 

the  indignation  of  this  people  ovabalances  their-h  indo 
lence  ;  and  you  will  fall  the  victim  of  what  you  may  call 
o\v  mutinous  patrhiotism." 

The  governor  made  a  very  quiet,  unappreciative  re 
mark  about  a  "  patriotism  that  lets  its  government  get 
choked  up  with  corruption  and  then  blows  it  out  with 
gunpowder  !  " 

The  Creole  shrugged. 

"And  rhepeats  the  operhation  indefinitely,"  he  said. 

The  governor  said  something  often  heard,  before  and 
since,  to  the  effect  that  communities  will  not  sacrifice 
themselves  for  mere  ideas. 

"  My-de-seh,"  replied  the  Creole,  "you  speak  like  a 
trhue  Anglo-Saxon  ;  but,  seh  !  how  many,  many  com 
munities  have  committed  suicide  .  And  this  one  ? — 
why,  it  \sjust  the  kind  to  do  it  !" 

"Well,"  said  the  governor,  smilingly,  "you  have 
pointed  out  what  you  consider  to  be  the  breakers,  now 
can  you  point  out  the  channel  ?  " 

"Channel?  Ther-h  is  none!  And  you,  nor-h  I, 
cannot  dig  one.  Two  grheat  fo'ces  may  ultimately  do 
it,  Rheligion  and  Education — as  I  was  telling  you  I  said 
to  my  young  frhiend,  the  apothecary, — but  still  I  am 
frhee  to  say  what  would  be  my  first  and  prhincipal  step, 
if  I  was  in  yo'  place — as  I  thank  God  I  am  not." 

The  listener  asked  him  what  that  was. 

"  Wherehever-h  I  could  find  a  Crhcole  that  I  could 
ventu'e  to  trhust,  my-de-seh,  I  would  put  him  in  office. 
Neva  mind  a  little  .political  heterhodoxy,  you  know  ; 
almost  any  man  can  be  trhusted  to  shoot  away  frhom 
the  unifo'm  he  has  on.  And  then— 

"  But,"  said  the  other,  "  I  have  offered  you — 

"Oh!"  replied    the    Creole,    like    a   true    merchant, 


THAT  NIGHT.  121 

"  me,  I  am  too  busy  ;  it  is  impossible  !  But,  I  say,  I 
would  compel,  my-de-seh,  this  people  to  govern  them 
selves  !  " 

"  And  pray,  how  would  you  give  a  people  a  free  gov 
ernment  and  then  compel  them  to  administer  it  ?  " 

"  My-de-seh,  you  should  not  give  one  poo'  Crheole 
the  puzzle  which  belongs  to  yo'  whole  Congrhess  ;  but 
you  may  depend  on  this,  that  the  worst  thing  for-h  all 
pahties — and  I  say  it  only  because  it  is  worst  for-h  all — 
would  be  a  feeble  and  dilatorily  punishment  of  bad 
faith." 

When  this  interview  finally  drew  to  a  close  the  gover 
nor  had  made  a  memorandum  of  some  fifteen  or  twenty 
Grandissimes,  scattered  through  different  cantons  of 
Louisiana,  who,  their  kinsman  Honore  thought,  would 
not  decline  appointments. 

Certain  of  the  Muses  were  abroad  that  night.  Faintly 
audible  to  the  apothecary  of  the  rue  Royale  through 
that  deserted  stillness  which  is  yet  the  marked  peculiar 
ity  of  New  Orleans  streets  by  night,  came  from  a  neigh 
boring  slave-yard  the  monotonous  chant  and  machine- 
like  tune-beat  of  an  African  dance.  There  our  lately 
met  marchande  (albeit  she  was  but  a  guest,  fortified 
against  the  street-watch  with  her  master's  written 
"pass")  led  the  ancient  Calinda  dance  and  that  well- 
known  song  of  derision,  in  whose  ever  multiplying  stan 
zas  the  helpless  satire  of  a  feeble  race  still  continues  to 
celebrate  the  personal  failings  of  each  newly  prominent 
figure  among  the  dominant  caste.  There  was  a  new 
distich  to  the  song  to-night,  signifying  that  the  pride  of 
the  Grandissimes  must  find  his  friends  now  among  the 
Yankees  : 

6 


122  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  Miche  Hon're,  allii  !  h-alle  ! 

Trouve  to  zamis  parmi  les  Yankis. 
Dance  calinda,  bou-joum  !  bou-joum  ! 
Dance  calinda,  bou-joum  !  bou-joum  ! " 

Frowenfeld,  as  we  have  already  said,  had  closed  his 
shop,  and  was  sitting  in  the  room  behind  it  with  one  arm 
on  his  table  and  the  other  on  his  celestial  globe,  watch 
ing  the  flicker  of  his  small  fire  and  musing  upon  the  un 
usual  experiences  of  the  evening.  Upon  every  side 
there  seemed  to  start  away  from  his*  turning  glance  the 
multiplied  shadows  of  something  wrong.  The  melan- 
ancholy  face  of  that  Honore  Grandissime,  his  landlord, 
at  whose  mention  Dr.  Keene  had  thought  it  fair  to 
laugh  without  explaining  ;  the  tall,  bright-eyed  mila- 
traisse  /  old  Agricola  ;  the  lady  of  the  basil  ;  the  newly- 
identified  merchant  friend,  now  the  more  satisfactory 
Honore, — they  all  came  before  him  in  his  meditation, 
provoking  among  themselves  a  certain  discord,  faint  but 
persistent,  to  which  he  strove  to  close  his  ear.  For  he 
was  brain-weary.  Even  in  the  bright  recollection  of  the 
lady  and  her  talk  he  became  involved  among  shadows, 
and  going  from  bad  to  worse,  seemed  at  length  almost  to 
gasp  in  an  atmosphere  of  hints,  allusions,  faint  unspoken 
admissions,  ill-concealed  antipathies,  unfinished  speech 
es,  mistaken  identities  and  whisperings  of  hidden  strife. 
The  cathedral  clock  struck  twelve  and  was  answered 
again  from  the  convent  tower  ;  and  as  the  notes  died 
away  he  suddenly  became  aware  that  the  weird,  drowsy 
throb  of  the  African  song  and  dance  had  been  swing 
ing  drowsily  in  his  brain  for  an  unknown  lapse  of  time. 

The  apothecary  nodded  once  or  twice,  and  thereupon 
rose  up  and  prepared  for  bed,  thinking  to  sleep  till 
morning. 


THAT  NIGHT.  123 

Aurora  and  her  daughter  had  long  ago  put  out  their 
chamber  light.  Early  in  the  evening  the  younger  had 
made  favorable  mention  of  retiring,  to  which  the  elder 
replied  by  asking  to  be  left  awhile  to  her  own  thoughts. 
Clotilde,  after  some  tender  protestations,  consented,  and 
passed  through  the  open  door  that  showed,  beyond  it, 
their  couch.  The  air  had  grown  just  cool  and  humid 
enough  to  make  the  warmth  of  one  small  brand  on  the 
hearth  acceptable,  and  before  this  the  fair  widow  settled 
herself  to  gaze  beyond  her  tiny,  slippered  feet  into  its 
wavering  flame,  and  think.  Her  thoughts  were  such  as 
to  bestow  upon  her  face  that  enhancement  of  beauty  that 
comes  of  pleasant  reverie,  and  to  make  it  certain  that  that 
little  city  afforded  no  fairer  sight, — unless,  indeed,  it  was 
the  figure  of  Clotilde  just  beyond  the  open  door,  as  in  her 
white  night-dress  enriched  with  the  work  of  a  diligent 
needle,  she  knelt  upon  the  low  prie-Dieu  before  the  lit 
tle  family  altar,  and  committed  her  pure  soul  to  the 
Divine  keeping. 

Clotilde  could  not  have  been  many  minutes  asleep 
when  Aurora  changed  her  mind  and  decided  to  follow. 
The  shade  upon  her  face  had  deepened  for  a  moment 
into  a  look  of  trouble  ;  but  a  bright  philosophy,  which 
was  part  of  her  paternal  birthright,  quickly  chased  it 
away,  and  she  passed  to  her  room,  disrobed,  lay  softly 
clown  beside  the  beauty  already  there  and  smiled  herself 
to  sleep, — 

"  Blinded  alike  'from  sunshine  and  from  rain, 
As  though  a  rose  should  shut,  and  be  a  bud  again." 

But  she  also  wakened  again,  and  lay  beside  her  un 
conscious  bed-mate,  occupied  with  the  company  of  her 
own  thoughts.  "  Why  should  these  little  concealments 


124  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

ruffle  my  bosom  ?  Does  not  even  Nature  herself 
practice  wiles  ?  Look  at  the  innocent  birds  ;  do  they 
build  where  everybody  can  count  their  eggs  ?  And 
shall  a  poor  human  creature  try  to  be  better  than  a 
bird  ?  Didn't  I  say  my  prayers  under  the  blanket  just 
now?" 

Her  companion  stirred  in  her  sleep,  and  she  rose  upon 
one  elbow  to  bend  upon  the  sleeper  a  gaze  of  ardent 
admiration.  "  Ah,  beautiful  little  chick  !  how  guileless  ! 
indeed,  how  deficient  in  that  respect !  "  She  sat  up  in 
the  bed  and  hearkened  ;  the  bell  struck  for  midnight. 
Was  that  the  hour  ?  The  fates  were  smiling  !  Surely 
M.  Assonquer  himself  must  have  waked  her  to  so  choice 
an  opportunity.  She  ought  not  to  despise  it.  Now, 
by  the  application  of  another  and  easily  wrought  charm, 
that  darkened  hour  lately  spent  with  Palmyre  would 
have,  as  it  were,  its  colors  set. 

The  night  had  grown  much  cooler.  Stealthily,  by 
degrees,  she  rose  and  left  the  couch.  The  openings  of 
the  room  were  a  window  and  two  doors,  and  these,  with 
much  caution,  she  contrived  to  open  without  noise. 
None  of  them  exposed  her  to  the  possibility  of  public 
view.  One  door  looked  into  the  dim  front  room  ;  the 
window  let  in  only  a  flood  of  moonlight  over  the  top  of 
a  high  house,  which  was  without  openings  on  that  side  ; 
the  other  door  revealed  a  weed-grown  back  yard  and 
that  invaluable  protector,  the  cook's  hound,  lying  fast 
asleep. 

In  her  night-clothes  as  she  was,  she  stood  a  moment 
in  the  centre  of  the  chamber,  then  sank  upon  one  knee, 
rapped  the  floor  gently  but  audibly  thrice,  rose,  drew  a 
step  backward,  sank  upon  the  other  knee,  rapped  thrice, 
rose  again,  stepped  backward,  knelt  the  third  time,  the 


THAT  NIGHT.  12$ 

third  time  rapped,  and  then,  rising,  murmured  a  vow 
to  pour  upon  the  ground  next  day  an  oblation  of  cham 
pagne — then  closed  the  doors  and  window  and  crept 
back  to  bed.  Then  she  knew  how  cold  she  had  become. 
It  seemed  as  though  her  very  marrow  was  frozen.  She 
was  seized  with  such  an  uncontrollable  shivering  that 
Clotilde  presently  opened  her  eyes,  threw  her  arm  about 
her  mother's  neck,  and  said  : 

"  Ah  !  my  sweet  mother,  are  you  so  cold  ?  " 
"The  blanket  was    all  off  of  me,"  said  the  mother, 
returning  the  embrace,  and  the  two  sank  into  uncon 
sciousness  together. 

Into  slumber  sank  almost  at  the  same  moment  Joseph 
Frowenfeld.  He  awoke,  not  a  great  while  later,  to  find 
himself  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  Three  or 
four  men  had  shouted  at  once,  and  three  pistol-shots, 
almost  in  one  instant,  had  resounded  just  outside  his 
shop.  He  had  barely  time  to  throw  himself  into  half 
his  garments  when  the  knocker  sounded  on  his  street 
door,  and  when  he  opened  it  Agricola  Fusilier  entered, 
supported  by  his  nephew  Honoreon  one  side  and  Doctor 
Keene  on  the  other.  The  latter's  right  hand  was  pressed 
hard  against  a  bloody  place  in  Agricola's  side. 

"  Give  us  plenty  of  light,  Frowenfeld,"  said  the  doctor, 
"and  a  chair  and  some  lint,  and  some  Castile  soap, 
and  some  towels  and  sticking-plaster,  and  anything 
else  you  can  think  of.  Agricola's  about  scared  to 
death " 

"Professor  Frowenfeld,"  groaned  the  aged  citizen, 
"  I  am  basely  and  mortally  stabbed  !  " 

"  Right  on,  Frowenfeld,"  continued  the  doctor, 
"right  on  into  the  back  room.  Fasten  that  front  door. 


126  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

Here,  Agricola,  sit  down  here.  That's  right,  Frow.,  stir 
up  a  little  fire.  Give  me — never  mind,  I'll  just  cut  the 
cloth  open." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silent  suspense  while  the 
wound  was  being  reached,  and  then  the  doctor  spoke 
again. 

"  Just  as  I  thought  ;  only  a  safe  and  comfortable  gash 
that  will  keep  you  in-doors  a  while  with  your  arm  in  a 
sling.  You  are  more  scared  than  hurt,  I  think,  old 
gentleman." 

"  You  think  an  infernal  falsehood,  sir!  " 

"  See  here,  sir,"  said  the  doctor,  without  ceasing  to 
ply  his  dexterous  hands  in  his  art,  "  I'll  jab  these  scissors 
into  your  back  if  you  say  that  again." 

"I  suppose,"  growled  the  "citizen,"  "it  it  just  the 
thing  your  professional  researches  have  qualified  you 
for,  sir  !  " 

"Just  stand  here,  Mr.  Frowenfeld,"  said  the  little 
doctor,  settling  down  to  a  professional  tone,  "  and  hand 
me  things  as  I  ask  for  them.  Honore,  please  hold  this 
arm  ;  so."  And  so,  after  a  moderate  lapse  of  time, 
the  treatment  that  medical  science  of  those  days  dictated 
was  applied — whatever  that  was.  Let  those  who  do  not 
know  give  thanks. 

M.  Grandissime  explained  to  Frowenfeld  what  had 
occurred. 

"  You  see,  I  succeeded  in  meeting  my  uncle,  and  we 
went  togetha  to  my  office.  My  uncle  keeps  his  accounts 
with  me.  Sometimes  we  look  them  ova.  We  stayed 
until  midnight ;  I  dismissed  my  carrhiage.  As  we 
walked  homewa'd  we  met  some  frhiends  coming  out  of 
the  rhooms  of  the  Bagatelle  Club  ;  five  or  six  of  my 
uncles  and  cousins,  and  also  Docta  Keene.  We  all  fell 


THAT  NIGHT.  12? 

a-talking  of  my  grandfatha's  ftfte  de  grhandpcre  of  next 
month,'  and  went  to  have  some  coffee.  When  we 
se*parhated,  and  my  uncle  and  my  cousin  Achille 
Grhandissime.  and  Docta  Keene  and  myself  came  down 
Rhoyal  strheet,  out  frhom  that  dahk  alley  behind  yo' 
shop  jumped  a  little  man  and  stuck  my  uncle  with  a 
knife.  If  I  had  not  caught  his  arm  he  would  have  killed 
my  uncle." 

"  And  he  escaped,"  said  the  apothecary. 

"  No,  sir  !  "  said  Agricola,  with  his  back  turned. 

"  I  think  he  did.      I  do  not  think  he  was  strhuck." 

"  And  Mr. ,  your  cousin  ?  " 

"  Achille  ?     I  have  sent  him  for-h  a  carrhiage." 

"  Why,  Agricola,"  said  the  doctor,  snipping  the  loose 
ravellings  from  his  patient's  bandages,  "an  old  man  like 
you  should  not  have  enemies." 

"  I  am  not  an  old  man  sir  !  " 

"  I  said  young  man." 

"  I  am  not  a  young  man,  sir  !  " 

"  I  wonder  who  the  fellow  was,"  continued  Doctor 
Keene,  as  he  re-adjusted  the  ripped  sleeve. 

"  That  is  my  affair,  sir  ;   I  know  who  it  was." 
****** 

"And  yet  she  insists,"  M.  Grandissime  was  asking 
Frowenfeld,  standing  with  his  leg  thrown  across  the  celes 
tial  globe,  "  that  I  knocked  heh  down  intentionally  ?  " 

Frowenfeld,  about  to  answer,  was  interrupted  by  a 
knock  on  the  door. 

"That  is  my  cousin,  with  the  carrhiage,"  said  M. 
Grandissime,  following  the  apothecary  into  the  shop. 

Frowenfeld  opened  to  a  young  man, — a  rather  poor 
specimeg  of  the  Grandissime  type,  deficient  in  stature  but 
not  in  stage  manner. 


128  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  Est  il  mort?  "  he  cried  at  the  threshold. 

"  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,  let  me  make  you  acquainted  with 
my  cousin,  Achille  Grhandissime." 

Mr.  Achille  Grandissime  gave  Frowenfeld  such  a  bow 
as  we  see  now  only  in  pictures. 

"  Wy  'appe  to  meek  yo'  acquaintenz  !  " 

Agricola  entered,  followed  by  the  doctor,  and  de 
manded  in  indignant  thunder-tones,  as  he  entered  : 

"  Who — ordered — that — carriage  ?  " 

"  I  did,"  said  Honore.  "  Will  you  please  get  into  it 
at  once." 

"  Ah  !  dear  Honore  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man, 
"  always  too  kind  !  I  go  in  it  purely  to  please  you." 

Good-night  was  exchanged  ;  Honore  entered  the 
vehicle  and  Agricola  was  helped  in.  Achille  touched 
his  hat,  bowed  and  waved  his  hand  to  Joseph,  and  shook 
hands  with  the  doctor,  and  saying,  "  Well,  good-night, 
Doctor  Keene,"  he  shut  himself  out  of  the  shop  with 
another  low  bow.  "  Think  I  am  going  to  shake  hands 
with  an  apothecary  ?  "  thought  M.  Achille. 

Doctor  Keene  had  refused  Honore's  invitation  to  go 
with  them. 

"  Frowenfeld,"  he  said,  as  he  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  shop  wiping  a  ring  with  a  towel  and  looking  at  his 
delicate,  freckled  hand,  "  I  propose,  before  going  to  bed 
with  you,  to  eat  some  of  your  bread  and  cheese.  Aren't 
you  glad  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be,  Doctor,"  replied  the  apothecary,  "  if  you 
will  tell  me  what  all  this  means." 

"Indeed  I  will  not,— that  is,  not  to-night.  What? 
Why,  it  would  take  until  breakfast  to  tell  what  '  all  this 
means,' — the  story  of  that  pestiferous  darky  Bras^  Coupe", 
with  the  rest  ?  Oh,  no,  sir.  I  would  sooner  not  have 


THAT  NIGHT.  1 29 

any  bread  and  cheese.     What  on  earth  has  waked  your 
curiosity  so  suddenly,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  Have  you  any  idea  who  stabbed  Citizen  Fusilier?  " 
was  Joseph's  response. 

"  Why,  at  first  I  thought  it  was  the  other  Honore 
Grandissime  ;  but  when  I  saw  how  small  the  fellow  was, 
I  was  at  a  loss,  completely.  But,  whoever  it  is,  he  has 
my  bullet  in  him,  whatever  Honore  may  think." 

"  Will  Mr.  Fusilier's  wound  give  him  much  trouble  ?  " 
asked  Joseph,  as  they  sat  down  to  a  luncheon  at  the  fire. 

"  Hardly;  he  has  too  much  of  the  blood  of  Lufki- 
Humma  in  him.  But  I  need  not  say  that ;  for  the  Gran 
dissime  blood  is  just  as  strong.  A  wonderful  family, 
those  Grandissimes !  They  are  an  old,  illustrious  line, 
and  the  strength  that  was  once  in  the  intellect  and  will 
is  going  down  into  the  muscles.  I  have  an  idea  that 
their  greatness  began,  hundreds  of  years  ago,  in  ponder 
osity  of  arm, — of  frame,  say, — and  developed  from  gen 
eration  to  generation,  in  a  rising  scale,  first  into  fineness 
of  sinew,  then,  we  will  say,  into  force  of  will,  then  into 
power  of  mind,  then  into  subtleties  of  genius.  Now  they 
are  going  back  down  the  incline.  Look  at  Honore  ;  he 
is  high  up  on  the  scale,  intellectual  and  sagacious.  But 
look  at  him  physically,  too.  What  an  exquisite  mould  ! 
What  compact  strength  !  I  should  not  wonder  if  he  gets 
that  from  the  Indian  Queen.  What  endurance  he  has  ! 
He  will  probably  go  to  his  business  by  and  by  and  not 
see  his  bed  for  seventeen  or  eighteen  hours.  He  is  the 
flower  of  the  family,  and  possibly  the  last  one.  Now, 
old  Agricola  shows  the  downward  grade  better.  Sev 
enty-five,  if  he  is  a  day,  with,  maybe,  one-fourth  the  at 
tainments  he  pretends  to  have,  and  still  less  good  sense  ; 
but  strong — as  an  orang-outang.  Shall  we  go  to  bed  ?  " 
6* 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

NEW   LIGHT   UPON   DARK   PLACES. 

WHEN  the  long,  wakeful  night  was  over,  and  the  doc 
tor  gone,  Frowenfeld  seated  himself  to  record  his  usual 
observations  of  the  weather ;  but  his  mind  was  else 
where — here,  there,  yonder.  There  are  understandings 
that  expand,  not  imperceptibly  hour  by  hour,  but  as 
certain  flowers  do,  by  little  explosive  ruptures,  with  pe 
riods  of  quiescence  between.  After  this  night  of  expe 
riences  it  was  natural  that  Frowenfeld  should  find  the 
circumference  of  his  perceptions  consciously  enlarged. 
The  daylight  shone,  not  into  his  shop  alone,  but  into  his 
heart  as  well.  The  face  of  Aurora,  which  had  been  the 
dawn  to  him  before,  was  now  a  perfect  sunrise,  while  in 
pleasant  timeliness  had  come  in  this  Apollo  of  a  Honore 
Grandissime.  The  young  immigrant  was  dazzled.  He 
felt  a  longing  to  rise  up  and  run  forward  in  this  flood  of 
beams.  He  was  unconscious  of  fatigue,  or  nearly  so — 
would  have  been  wholly  so  but  for  the  return  by  and  by 
of  that  same,  dim  shadow,  or  shadows,  still  rising  and 
darting  across  every  motion  of  the  fancy  that  grouped 
again  the  actors  in  last  night's  scenes  ;  not  such  shadows 
as  naturally  go  with  sunlight  to  make  it  seem  brighter, 
but  a  something  which  qualified  the  light's  perfection 
and  the  air's  freshness. 

Wherefore,  resolved  :   that  he  would  compound  his  life, 


NEW  LIGHT    UPON  DARK  PLACES.  131 

from  this  time  forward,  by  a  new  formula  :  books,  so  much  ; 
observation,  so  much  ;  social  intercourse,  so  much  ;  love  — 
as  to  that,  time  enough  for  that  in  the  future  (if  he  was  in 
love  with  anybody,  he  certainly  did  not  know  it) ;  of  love> 
therefore,  amount  not  yet  necessary  to  state,  but  probably 
(when  it  should  be  introduced),  in  the  generous  propor 
tion  in  which  physicians  prescribe  aqua.  Resolved,  in 
other  words,  without  ceasing  to  be  Frowenfeld  the  stu 
dious,  to  begin  at  once  the  perusal  of  this  newly  found 
book,  the  Community  of  New  Orleans.  True,  he  knew 
he  should  find  it  a  difficult  task — not  only  that  much  of 
it  was  in  a  strange  tongue,  but  that  it  was  a  volume 
whose  displaced  leaves  would  have  to  be  lifted  tenderly, 
blown  free  of  much  dust,  re-arranged,  some  torn  frag 
ments  laid  together  again  with  much  painstaking,  and 
even  the  purport  of  some  pages  guessed  out.  Obviously, 
the  place  to  commence  at  was  that  brightly  illuminated 
title-page,  the  ladies  Nancanou. 

As  the  sun  rose  and  diffused  its  beams  in  an  atmos 
phere  whose  temperature  had  just  been  recorded  as  50° 
F.,  the  apothecary  stepped  half  out  of  his  shop-door  to 
face  the  bracing  air  that  came  blowing  upon  his  tired  fore 
head  from  the  north.  As  he  did  so,  he  said  to  himself: 

"  How  are  these  two  Honore  Grandissimes  related  to 
each  other,  and  why  should  one  be  thought  capable  of 
attempting  the  life  of  Agricola  ?  " 

The  answer  was  on  its  way  to  him. 

There  is  left  to  our  eyes,  but  a  poor  vestige  of  the  pic 
turesque  view  presented  to  those  who  looked  down  the 
rue  Royale  before  the  garish  day  that  changed  the  rue 
Enghien  into  Ingine  street,  and  dropped  the  'e'  from 
Royale.  It  was  a  long,  narrowing  perspective  of  ar 
cades,  lattices,  balconies,  zaguans,  dormer  windows,  and 


132  THE    GRAND1SSIMES. 

blue  sky — of  low,  tiled  roofs,  red  and  wrinkled,  huddled 
down  into  their  own  shadows  ;  of  canvas  awnings  with 
fluttering  borders,  and  of  grimy  lamp-posts  twenty  feet 
in  height,  each  reaching  out  a  gaunt  iron  arm  over  the 
narrow  street  and  dangling  a  lamp  from  its  end.  The 
human  life  which  dotted  the  view  displayed  a  variety  of 
tints  and  costumes  such  as  a  painter  would  be  glad  to 
take  just  as  he  found  them  :  the  gayly  feathered  Indian, 
the  slashed  and  tinselled  Mexican,  the  leather-breeched 
raftsmen,  the  blue-  or  yellow-turbaned  nc'gresse,  the 
sugar-planter  in  white  flannel  and  moccasins,  the  aver 
age  townsman  in  the  last  suit  of  clothes  of  the  lately  de 
ceased  century,  and  now  and  then  a  fashionable  man 
in  that  costume  whose  union  of  tight-buttoned  martial 
severity,  swathed  throat,  and  effeminate  superabundance 
of  fine  linen  seemed  to  offer  a  sort  of  state's  evidence 
against  the  pompous  tyrannies  and  frivolities  of  the 
times. 

The  marcJiande  des  calas  was  out.  She  came  toward 
Joseph's  shop,  singing  in  a  high-pitched  nasal  tone  this 
new  song  : 

"  De  'tit  zozos — ye  te  assis — 
De  'tit  zozos— si  la  barrier. 
De  'tit  zozos,  qui  zabotte  ; 
Qui  9a  ye  di'  mo  pas  conne. 

"  Manzeur-poulet  vini  simin, 
Croupe  si  ye  et  croque  ye  ; 
Personn'  pli'  'tend'  ye  zabotte — 
De  'tit  zozos  si  la  barrier." 

"  You  lak  dat  song  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  chuckle,  as 
she  let  down  from  her  turbaned  head  a  flat  Indian  bas 
ket  of  warm  rice  cakes. 


NEW  LIGHT   UPON  DARK  PLACES.  133 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

She  laughed  again — more  than  the  questioner  could 
see  occasion  for. 

"  Dat  mean — two  lill  birds;  dey  was  sittin'  on  de 
fence  an'  gabblin'  togeddah,  you  know,  lak  you  see  two 
young  gals  sometime',  an'  you  can't  mek  out  w'at  dey 
sayin',  even  ef  dey  know  demself  ?  H-ya  !  Chicken- 
hawk  come  'long  dat  road  an'  jes'  set  down  an'  munch 
'em,  an'  nobody  can't  no  mo'  hea'  deir  lill  gabbiin'  on  de 
fence,  you  know." 

Here  she  laughed  again. 

Joseph  looked  at  her  with  severe  suspicion,  but  she 
found  refuge  in  benevolence. 

"  Honey,  you  ought  to  be  asleep  dis  werry  minit  ; 
look  lak  folks  been  a-worr'in'  you.  Fs  gwine  to  pick 
out  de  werry  bes'  calas  I's  got  for  you." 

As  she  delivered  them  she  courtesied,  first  to  Joseph 
and  then,  lower  and  with  hushed  gravity,  to  a  person 
who  passed  into  the  shop  behind  him,  bowing  and  mur 
muring  politely  as  he  passed.  She  followed  the  new 
comer  with  her  eyes,  hastily  accepted  the  price  of  the 
cakes,  whispered,  "  Dat's  my  mawstah,"  lifted  her  bas 
ket  to  her  head  and  went  away.  Her  master  was  Frow- 
enfeld's  landlord. 

Frowenfeld  entered  after  him,  calas  in  hand,  and 
with  a  grave  "  good-morning,  sir." 

—  m'sieu',"   responded   the  landlord,  with  a  low 
bow. 

Frowenfeld  waited  in  silence. 

The  landlord  hesitated,  looked  around  him,  seemed 
about  to  speak,  smiled,  and  said,  in  his  soft,  solemn 
voice,  feeling  his  way  word  by  word  through  the  unfa 
miliar  language  : 


134  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  Ah  lag  to  teg  you  apar'." 

"  See  me  alone  ?  " 

The  landlord  recognized  his  error  by  a  fleeting  smile. 

"  Alone,"  said  he. 

"  Shall  we  go  into  my  room  ?  " 

"  S'il  vous  plait,  m'sieu'." 

Frowenfeld's  breakfast,  furnished  by  contract  from  a 
neighboring  kitchen,  stood  on  the  table.  It  was  a  frugal 
one,  but  more  comfortable  than  formerly,  and  included 
coffee,  that  subject  of  just  pride  in  Creole  cookery. 
Joseph  deposited  his  calas  with  these  things  and  made 
haste  to  produce  a  chair,  which  his  visitor,  as  usual,  de 
clined. 

"  Idd  you'  bregfuz,  m'sieu'." 

"  I  can  do  that  afterward,"  said  Frowenfeld  ;  but  the 
landlord  insisted  and  turned  away  from  him  to  look  up 
at  the  books  on  the  wall,  precisely  as  that  other  of  the 
same  name  had  done  a  few  weeks  before. 

Frowenfeld,  as  he  broke  his  loaf,  noticed  this,  and, 
as  the  landlord  turned  his  face  to  speak,  wondered  that 
he  had  not  before  seen  the  common  likeness. 

"  Dez  stog,"  said  the  sombre  man. 

"What,  sir?  Oh  ! — dead  stock?  But  how  can  the 
materials  of  an  education  be  dead  stock  ?  " 

The  landlord  shrugged.  He  would  not  argue  the 
point.  One  American  trait  which  the  Creole  is  never 
entirely  ready  to  encounter  is  this  gratuitous  Yankee 
way  of  going  straight  to  the  root  of  things. 

"  Dead  stock  in  a  mercantile  sense,  you  mean,"  con 
tinued  the  apothecary  ;  "  but  arc  men  right  in  measur 
ing  such  things  only  by  their  present  market  value  ?  " 

The  landlord  had  no  reply.  It  was  little  to  him,  his 
manner  intimated  ;  his  contemplation  dwelt  on  deeper 


NEIV  LIGHT   UPON  DARK  PLACES.  135 

flaws  in  human  right  and  wrong  ;  yet — but  it  was  need 
less  to  discuss  it.  However,  he  did  speak. 

"  Ah  was  elevade  in  Pariz." 

"  Educated  in  Paris,"  exclaimed  Joseph,  admiringly. 
"  Then  you  certainly  cannot  find  your  education  dead 
stock." 

The  grave,  not  amused,  smile  which  was  the  landlord's 
only  rejoinder,  though  perfectly  courteous,  intimated 
that  his  tenant  was  sailing  over  depths  of  the  question 
that  he  was  little  aware  of.  But  the  smile  in  a  moment 
gave  way  for  the  look  of  one  who  was  engrossed  with 
another  subject. 

"  M'sieu',"  he  began  ;  but  just  then  Joseph  made  an 
apologetic  gesture  and  went  forward  to  wait  upon  an 
inquirer  after  "  Godfrey's  Cordial;  "  for  that  comforter 
was  known  to  be  obtainable  at  "  Frowenfeld's."  The 
business  of  the  American  drug-store  was  daily  increas 
ing.  When  Frowenfeld  returned  his  landlord  stood 
ready  to  address  him,  with  the  air  of  having  decided  to 
make  short  of  a  matter. 

"  M'sieu' " 

"  Have  a  seat,  sir,"  urged  the  apothecary. 

His  visitor  again  declined,  with  his  uniform  melan 
choly  grace.  He  drew  close  to  Frowenfeld. 

"  Ah  wand  you  mague  me  one  ouangan"  he  said. 

Joseph  shook  his  head.  He  remembered  Doctor 
Keene's  expressed  suspicion  concerning  the  assault  of 
the  night  before. 

"  I  do  not  understand,  you,  sir  ;   what  is  that  ?  " 

"  You  know." 

The  landlord  offered  a  heavy,  persuading  smile. 

"An  unguent?  Is  that  what  you  mean — an  oint 
ment  ?  " 


136  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  M'sieu',"  said  the  applicant,  with  a  not-to-be-de 
ceived  expression,  "  vous ctcs  astrologue — magicien " 

"  God  forbid!  " 

The  landlord  was  grossly  incredulous. 

"  You  godd  one  '  P'tit  Albert.'  " 

He  dropped  his  forefinger  upon  an  iron-clasped  book 
on  the  table,  whose  title  much  use  had  effaced. 

"That  is  the  Bible.  I  do  not  know  what  the  Tee 
Albare  is  !  " 

Frowenfeld  darted  an  aroused  glance  into  the  ever- 
courteous  eyes  of  his  visitor,  who  said  without  a  motion  : 

"You  di'n't  gave  Agricola  Fusilier  unc  ouangan,  la 
nuit  passt?" 

"Sir?" 

"  Ee  was  yeh  ? — laz  nighd  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Fusilier  was  here  last  night — yes.  He  had 
been  attacked  by  an  assassin  and  slightly  wounded. 
He  was  accompanied  by  his  nephew,  who,  I  suppose,  is 
your  cousin;  he  has  the  same  name." 

Frowenfeld,  hoping  he  had  changed  the  subject,  con 
cluded  with  a  propitiatory  smile,  which,  however,  was 
not  reflected. 

"  Ma  bruzzah,"  said  the  visitor. 

"  Your  brother!  "  , 

"  Ma  whide  bruzzah  ;  ah  ham  nod  whide,  m'sieu'." 

Joseph  said  nothing.  He  was  too  much  awed  to 
speak ;  the  ejaculation  that  started  toward  his  lips 
turned  back  and  rushed  into  his  heart,  and  it  was  the 
quadroon  who,  after  a  moment,  broke  the  silence  : 

"  Ah  ham  de  holdez  son  of  Numa  Grandissime." 

"  Yes — yes,"  said  Frowenfeld,  as  if  he  would  wave 
away  something  terrible. 

"  Nod  sell  me — ouangan  ?  "  asked  the  landlord,  again. 


NEW  LIGHT   UPON  DARK  PLACES.  137 

"  Sir,"  exclaimed  Frowenfeld,  taking  a  step  backward, 
"  pardon  me  if  I  offend  you  ;  that  mixture  of  blood  which 
draws  upon  you  the  scorn  of  this  community,  is  to  me 
nothing — nothing  !  And  every  invidious  distinction 
made  against  you  on  that  account  I  despise  !  But,  sir, 
whatever  may  be  either  your  private  wrongs,  or  the 
wrongs  you  suffer  in  common  with  your  class,  if  you  have 
it  in  your  mind  to  employ  any  manner  of  secret  art 
against  the  interests  or  person  of  any  one " 

Thelandlordwasmakingsilentprotestations,  andhisten- 
ant,  lost  in  a  wilderness  of  indignant  emotions,  stopped. 

"  M'sieu',"  began  the  quadroon,  but  ceased  and  stood 
with  an  expression  of  annoyance  every  moment  deepen 
ing  on  his  face,  until  he  finally  shook  his  head  slowly, 
and  said  with  a  baffled  smile  :  "  Ah  can  nod  spigEngliss." 

"  Write  it,"  said  Frowenfeld,  lifting  forward  a  chair. 

The  landlord,  for  the  first  time  in  their  acquaintance, 
accepted  a  seat,  bowing  low  as  he  did  so,  with  a  demon 
stration  of  profound  gratitude  that  just  perceptibly 
heightened  his  even  dignity.  Paper,  quills,  and  ink 
were  handed  down  from  a  shelf  and  Joseph  retired  into 
the  shop. 

Honore  Grandissime,  f.  m.  c.  (these  initials  could 
hardly  have  come  into  use  until  some  months  later,  but 
the  convenience  covers  the  sin  of  the  slight  anachronism), 
Honore  Grandissime,  free  man  of  color,  entered  from 
the  rear  room  so  silently  that  Joseph  was  first  made 
aware  of  his  presence  by  feeling  him  at  his  elbow.  He 

handed  the  apothecary but  a  few  words  in  time,  lest 

we  misjudge. 

The  father  of  the  two  Honores  was  that  Numa  Gran 
dissime — that  mere  child — whom  the  Grand  Marquis,  to 


138  THE    GRAXDISSIMES. 

the  great  chagrin  of  the  De  Grapions,  had  so  early 
cadetted.  The  commission  seems  not  to  have  been 
thrown  away.  While  the  province  was  still  in  first 
hands,  Numa's  was  a  shining  name  in  the  annals  of 
Kerlerec's  unsatisfactory  Indian  wars;  and  in  1768 
(when  the  colonists,  ill-informed,  inflammable,  and  long 
ill-governed,  resisted  the  transfer  of  Louisiana  to  Spain), 
at  a  time  of  life  when  most  young  men  absorb  all  the 
political  extravagances  of  their  day,  he  had  stood  by  the 
side  of  law  and  government,  though  the  popular  cry  was 
a  frenzied  one  for  "liberty."  Moreover,  he  had  held 
back  his  whole  chafing  and  stamping  tribe  from  a  preci 
pice  of  disaster,  and  had  secured  valuable  recognition  of 
their  office -holding  capacities  from  that  really  good  gov 
ernor  and  princely  Irishman  whose  one  act  of  summary 
vengeance  upon  a  few  insurgent  office-coveters  has 
branded  him  in  history  as  Cruel  O'Reilly.  But  the  ex 
perience  of  those  days  turned  Numa  gray,  and  withal 
he  was  riot  satisfied  with  their  outcome.  In  the  midst 
of  the  struggle  he  had  weakened  in  one  manly  resolve — 
against  his 'will  he  married.  The  lady  \vas  a  Fusilier, 
Agricola's  sister,  a  person  of  rare  intelligence  and 
beauty,  whom,  from  early  childhood,  the  secret  counsels 
of  his  seniors  had  assigned  to  him.  Despite  this,  ^  he 
had  said  he  would  never  marry  ;  he  made,  he  said,  no 
pretensions  to  severe  conscientiousness,  or  to  being  bet 
ter  than  others,  but — as  between  his  Maker  and  himself 
— he  had  forfeited  the  right  to  wed,  they  all  knew  how. 
But  the  Fusiliers  had  become  very  angry  and  Numa, 
finding  strife  about  to  ensue  just  when  without  unity  he 
could  not  bring  an  undivided  clan  through  the  torrent 
of  the  revolution,  had  "  nobly  sacrificed  a  little  senti 
mental  feeling,"  as  his  family  defined  it,  by  breaking 


NEW  LIGHT   UPON  DARK  PLACES.  139 

faith  with  the  mother  of  the  man  now  standing  at 
Joseph  Frowenfeld's  elbow,  and  who  was  then  a  little 
toddling  boy.  It  was  necessary  to  save  the  party — nay, 
that  was  a  slip  ;  we  should  say,  to  save  the  family  ;  this 
is  not  a  parable.  Yet  Numa  loved  his  wife.  She  bore 
him  a  boy  and  a  girl,  twins  ;  and  as  her  son  grew  in 
physical,  intellectual,  and  moral  symmetry,  he  indulged 
the  hope  that — the  ambition  and  pride  of  all  the  various 
Grandissimes  now  centering  in  this  lawful  son,  and  all 
strife  being  lulled,  he  should  yet  see  this  Honore  right 
the  wrongs  which  he  had  not  quite  dared  to  uproot. 
And  Honore  inherited  the  hope  and  began  to  make  it 
an  intention  and  aim  even  before  his  departure  (with  his 
half-brother  the  other  Honore)  for  school  in  Paris,  at  the 
early  age  of  fifteen.  Numa  soon  after  died,  and  Honore, 
after  various  fortunes  in  Paris,  London,  and  elsewhere, 
in  the  care,  or  at  least  company,  of  a  pious  uncle  in  holy 
orders,  returned  to  the  ancestral  mansion.  The  father's 
will — by  the  law  they  might  have  set  it  aside,  but  that 
was  not  their  way — left  the  darker  Honore  the  "bulk  of 
his  fortune,  the  younger  a  competency.  The  latter — in 
stead  of  taking  office  as  an  ancient  Grandissime  should 
have  done — to  the  dismay  and  mortification  of  his  kin 
dred,  established  himself  in  a  prosperous  commercial 
business.  The  elder  bought  houses  and  became  a  rentier. 

The  landlord  handed  the  apothecary  the  following 
writing : 

MR.  JOSEPH  FROWENFELD  : 

Think  not  that  anybody  is  to  be  either  poisoned  by  me  nor  yet  to  be 
made  a  sufferer  by  the  exercise  of  anything  by  me  of  the  character  of  what 
is  generally  known  as  grigri,  otherwise  magique.  This,  sir,  I  do  beg  your 


140  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

permission  to  offer  my  assurance  to  you  of  the  same.  Ah,  no  !  it  is  not 
for  that  !  I  am  the  victim  of  another  entirely  and  a  far  differente  and  dis 
similar  passion,  ;'.  e.,  Love.  Esteemed  sir,  speaking  or  writing  to  you  as 
unto  the  only  man  of  exclusively  white  blood  whom  I  believe  is  in  Louisiana 
willing  to  do  my  dumb,  suffering  race  the  real  justice,  I  love  Palmyre  la 
Philosophe  with  a  madness  which  is  by  the  human  lips  or  tongues  not  pos 
sible  to  be  exclaimed  (as,  I  may  add,  that  I  have  in  the  same  like  manner 
since  exactley  nine  years  and  seven  months  and  some  days).  Alas  !  heavens  ! 
I  can't  help  it  in  the  least  particles  at  all  !  What,  what  shall  I  do,  for  ah  ! 
it  is  pitiful  !  She  loves  me  not  at  all,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  is  (if  I  sus 
picion  not  wrongfully)  wrapped  up  head  and  ears  in  devotion  of  one  who 
does  not  love  her,  either,  so  cold  and  incapable  of  appreciation  is  he.  I 
allude  to  Honore  Grandissime. 

Ah  !  well  do  I  remember  the  day  when  we  returned — he  and  me — from 
the  France.  She  was  there  when  we  landed  on  that  levee,  she  was  among 
that  throng  of  kindreds  and  domestiques,  she  shind  like  the  evening  star  as 
she  stood  there  (it  was  the  first  time  I  saw  her,  but  she  was  known  to  him 
when  at  fifteen  he  left  his  home,  but  I  resided  not  under  my  own  white 
father's  roof — not  at  all — far  from  that).  She  cried  out  'A  la  fin  to 
z//'«//"and  leap  herself  with  both  resplendant  arm  around  his  neck  and 
kist  him  twice  on  the  one  cheek  and  the  other,  and  her  resplendant  eyes 
shining  with  a  so  great  beauty. 

If  you  will  give  me  a  pondre  (T amour  such  as  I  doubt  not  your  great 
knowledge,  enable  you  to  make  of  a  power  that  cannot  to  be  resist,  while 
still  at  the  same  time  of  a  harmless  character  toward  the  life  or  the  health 
of  such  that  I  shall  succeed  in  its  use  to  gain  the  affections  of  that  empe- 
rice  of  my  soul,  I  hesitate  not  to  give  you  such  price  as  it  may  please  you 
to  nominate  up  as  high  as  to  $1,000 — nay,  more.  Sir,  will  you  do  that  ? 

I  have  the  honor  to  remain,  sir, 

Very  respectfully,  your  obedient  servant, 

H.  GRANDISSIME. 

Frowenfeld  slowly  transferred  his  gaze  from  the  paper 
to  his  landlord's  face.  Dejection  and  hope  struggled 
with  each  other  in  the  gaze  that  was  returned  ;  but  when 
Joseph  said,  with  a  countenance  full  of  pity,  "  I  have  no 
power  to  help  you,"  the  disappointed  lover  merely  gazed 
fixedly  for  a  moment  in  the  direction  of  the  street,  then 
lifted  his  hat  toward  his  head,  bowed,  and  departed. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

ART  AND    COMMERCE. 

IT  was  some  two  or  three  days  after  the  interview 
just  related  that  the  apothecary  of  the  rue  Royale  found 
it  necessary  to  ask  a  friend  to  sit  in  the  shop  a  few  min 
utes  while  he  should  go  on  a  short  errand.  He  was 
kept  away  somewhat  longer  than  he  had  intended  to 
stay,  for,  as  they  were  coming  out  of  the  cathedral,  he 
met  Aurora  and  Clotilde.  Both  the  ladies  greeted  him 
with  a  cordiality  which  was  almost  inebriating.  Aurora 
even  extending  her  hand.  He  stood  but  a  moment,  re 
sponding  blushingly  to  two  or  three  trivial  questions 
from  Aurora  ;  yet  even  in  so  short  a  time,  and  although 
Clotilde  gave  ear  with  the  sweetest  smiles  and  loveliest 
changes  of  countenance,  he  experienced  a  lively  re 
newal  of  a  conviction  that  this  young  lady  was  most 
unjustly  harboring  toward  him  a  vague  disrelish,  if  not 
a  positive  distrust.  That  she  had  some  mental  reserva 
tion  was  certain. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel'/'  said  Aurora,  as  he  raised  his 
hat  for  good-day,  "  you  din  come  home  yet." 

He  did  not  understand  until  he  had  crimsoned  and 
answered  he  knew  not  what — something  about  having 
intended  every  day.  He  felt  lifted  he  knew  not  where, 
Paradise  opened,  there  was  a  flood  of  glory,  and  then 
he  was  alone  ;  the  ladies,  leaving  adieux  sweeter  than 


142  THE    GRANDISSIMF.S. 

the  perfume  they  carried  away  with  them,  floated  into 
the  south  and  were  gone.  Why  was  it  that  the  elder, 
though  plainly  regarded  by  the  younger  with  admira 
tion,  dependence,  and  overflowing  affection,  seemed 
sometimes  to  be,  one  might  almost  say,  watched  by 
her  ?  He  liked  Aurora  the  better. 

On  his  return  to  the  shop  his  friend  remarked  that  if 
he  received  many  such  visitors  as  the  one  who  had 
called  during  his  absence,  he  might  be  permitted  to  be 
vain.  It  was  Honore  Grandissime,  and  he  had  left  no 
message. 

"  Frowenfeld,"  said  his  friend,  "  it  would  pay  you  to 
employ  a  regular  assistant." 

Joseph  was  in  an  abstracted  mood. 

"  I  have  some  thought  of  doing  so." 

Unlucky  slip  !  As  he  pushed  open  his  door  next 
morning,  what  was  his  dismay  to  find  himself  confront 
ed  by  some  forty  men.  Five  of  them  leaped  up  from 
the  door-sill,  and  some  thirty-five  from  the  edge  of  the 
trottoir,  brushed  that  part  of  their  wearing-apparel  which 
always  fits  with  great  neatness  on  a  Creole,  and  trooped 
into  the  shop.  The  apothecary  fell  behind  his  defences, 
that  is  to  say,  his  prescription  desk,  and  explained  to 
them  in  a  short  and  spirited  address  that  he  did  not 
wish  to  employ  any  of  them  on  any  terms.  Nine-tenths 
of  them  understood  not  a  word  of  English  ;  but  his  ges 
ture  was  unmistakable.  They  bowed  gratefully,  and 
said  good  day. 

Now  Frowenfeld  did  these  young  men  an  injustice  ; 
and  though  they  were  far  from  letting  him  know  it,  some 
of  them  felt  it  and  interchanged  expressions  of  feeling 
reproachful  to  him  as  they  stopped  on  the  next  corner 
to  watch  a  man  painting  a  sign.  He  had  treated  them 


ART  AND    COMMERCE.  143 

as  if  they  all  wanted  situations.  Was  this  so?  Far 
from  it.  Only  twenty  men  were  applicants  ;  the  other 
twenty  were  friends  who  had  come  to  see  them  get  the 
place.  And  again,  though,  as  the  apothecary  had  said, 
none  of  them  knew  anything  about  the  drug  business — 
no,  nor  about  any  other  business  under  the  heavens — 
they  were  all  willing  that  he  should  teach  them — except 
one.  A  young  man  of  patrician  softness  and  costly  ap 
parel  tarried  a  moment  after  the  general  exodus,  and 
quickly  concluded  that  on  Frowenfeld's  account  it  was 
probably  as  well  that  he  could  not  qualify,  since  he  was 
expecting  from  France  an  important  government  ap 
pointment  as  soon  as  these  troubles  should  be  settled  and 
Louisiana  restored  to  her  former  happy  condition.  But 
he  had  a  friend — a  cousin — whom  he  would  recom 
mend,  just  the  man  for  the  position  ;  a  splendid  fellow  ; 
popular,  accomplished — what  ?  the  best  trainer  of  dogs 
that  M.  Frowenfeld  might  ever  hope  to  look  upon  ;  a 
"  so  good  fisherman  as  I  never  saw  !" — the  marvel  of 
the  ball-room — could  handle  a  partner  of  twice  his 
weight ;  the  speaker  had  seen  him  take  a  lady  so  tall 
that  his  head  hardly  came  up  to  her  bosom,  whirl  her  in 
the  waltz  from  right  to  left — this  way  !  and  then,  as 
quick  as  lightning,  turn  and  whirl  her  this  way,  from 
left  to  right — "so  grezful  ligue  a  peajohn  !  He  could 
read  and  write,  and  knew  more  comig  song  !  " — the 
speaker  would  hasten  to  secure  him  before  he  should 
take  some  other  situation. 

The  wonderful  waltzer  never  appeared  upon  the  scene  ; 
yet  Joseph  made  shift  to  get  along,  and  by  and  by  found 
a  man  who  partially  met  his  requirements.  The  way  of 
it  was  this  :  With  his  forefinger  in  a  book  which  he  had 
been  reading,  he  was  one  day  pacing  his  shop  floor  in 


144  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

deep  thought.  There  were  two  loose  threads  hanging 
from  the  web  of  incident  weaving  around  him  which  ought 
to  connect  somewhere  ;  but  where  ?  They  were  the  two 
visits  made  to  his  shop  by  the  young  merchant,  Honore 
Grandissime.  He  stopped  still  to  think;  what  "train 
of  thought "  could  he  have  started  in  the  mind  of  such 
a  man  ? 

He  was  about  to  resume  his  walk,  when  there  came 
in,  or,  more  strictly  speaking,  there  shot  in,  a  young, 
auburn-curled,  blue-eyed  man,  whose  adolescent  buoy 
ancy,  as  much  as  his  delicate,  silver-buckled  feet  and 
clothes  of  perfect  fit,  pronounced  him  all-pure-Creole. 
His  name,  when  it  was  presently  heard,  accounted  for 
the  blond  type  by  revealing  a  Franco-Celtic  origin. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',"  he  said,  advancing  like  a  boy 
coming  in  after  recess,  "  I  'ave  somet'ing  beauteeful  to 
place  into  yo'  window." 

He  wheeled  half  around  as  he  spoke  and  seized  from 
a  naked  black  boy,  who  at  that  instant  entered,  a  rectan 
gular  object  enveloped  in  paper. 

Frowenfeld's  window  was  fast  growing  to  be  a  place 
of  art  exposition.  A  pair  of  statuettes,  a  golden  tobacco- 
box,  a  costly  jewel-casket,  or  a  pair  of  richly  gemmed 
horse-pistols — the  property  of  some  ancient  gentleman 
or  dame  of  emaciated  fortune,  and  which  must  be  sold 
to  keep  up  the  bravery  of  good  clothes  and  pomade  that 
hid  slow  starvation,  went  into  the  shop-window  of  the 
ever-obliging  apothecary,  to  be  disposed  of  by  tombola. 
And  it  is  worthy  of  note  in  passing,  concerning  the 
moral  education  of  one  who  proposed  to  make  no  con 
scious  compromise  with  any  sort  of  evil,  that  in  this 
drivelling  species  of  gambling  he  saw  nothing  hurtful  or 
improper.  But  "in  Frowenfeld's  window"  appeared 


ART  AND    COMMERCE.  145 

also  articles  for  simple  sale  or  mere  transient  exhibition ; 
as,  for  instance,  the  wonderful  tapestries  of  a  blind  widow 
of  ninety  ;  tremulous  little  bunches  of  flowers,  proudly 
stated  to  have  been  made  entirely  of  the  bones  of  the 
ordinary  catfish  ;  others,  large  and  spreading,  the  sight 
of  which  would  make  any  botanist  fall  down  "  and  die 
as  mad  as  the  wild  waves  be,"  whose  ticketed  merit  was1 
that  they  were  composed  exclusively  of  materials  pro 
duced  upon  Creole  soil  ;  a  picture  of  the  Ursulines'  con 
vent  and  chapel,  done  in  forty-five  minutes  by  a  child 
of  ten  years,  the  daughter  of  the  widow  Felicie  Gran- 
dissime  ;  and  the  siege  of  Troy,  in  ordinary  ink,  done 
entirely  with  the  pen,  the  labor  of  twenty  years,  by  "  a 
citizen  of  New  Orleans."  It  was  natural  that  these 
things  should  co:ne  to  "  Frowenfeld's  corner,"  for  there, 
oftener  than  elsewhere,  the  critics  were  gathered  together. 
Ah  !  wonderful  men,  those  critics  ;  and,  fortunately,  we 
have  a  few  still  left. 

The  young  man  with  auburn  curls  rested  the  edge  of 
his  burden  upon  the  counter,  tore  away  its  wrappings 
and  disclosed  a  painting. 

He  said  nothing — with  his  mouth  ;  but  stood  at  arm's 
length  balancing  the  painting  and  casting  now  upon  it 
and  now  upon  Joseph  Frowenfeld  a  look  more  replete 
with  triumph  than  Caesar's  three  worded  dispatch. 

The  apothecary  fixed  upon  it  long  and  silently  the 
gaze  of  a  somnambulist.  At  length  he  spoke  : 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Louisiana  rif-using  to  hanter  de  h-Union  !  "  replied 
the  Creole,  with  an  ecstasy  that  threatened  to  burst  forth 
in  hip-hurrahs. 

Joseph  said  nothing,  but  silently  wondered  at  Louis 
iana's  anatomy. 
7 


146  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  Gran'  subjec'  !  "  said  the  Creole. 

"  Allegorical,"  replied  the  hard-pressed  apothecary. 

"  Allegoricon  ?  No,  sir  !  Allegoricon  never  saw  that 
pigshoe.  If  you  insist  to  know  who  make  dat  pigshoe 
— de  hartis'  stan'  bif-ore  you  !  " 

"  It  is  your  work  ?  " 

"  'Tis  de  work  of  me,  Raoul  Innerarity,  cousin  to  de 
distingwish  Honore  Grandissime.  I  swear  to  you,  sir, 
on  stack  of  Bible'  as  'igh  as  yo'  head  !  " 

He  smote  his  breast. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  put  it  in  the  window  ?  " 

"Yes,  seh." 

"  For  sale  ?" 

M.  Raoul  Innerarity  hesitated  a  moment  before  re 
plying  : 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  I  think  it  is  a  foolishness  to  be 
too  proud,  eh  ?  I  want  you  to  say,  '  My  frien',  'Sieur 
Innerarity,  never  care  to  sell  anything  ;  'tis  for  egs- 
hibbyshun'  ;  mats — when  somebody  look  at  it,  so,"  the 
artist  cast  upon  his  work  a  look  of  languishing  covetous- 
ness,  "  '  you  say,  foudre  tonnerre  !  what  de  dev'  ! — I  take 
dat  ris-pon-sibble-ty — you  can  have  her  for  two  hun'red 
fifty  dollah ! '  Better  not  be  too  proud,  eh,  'Sieur 
Frowenfel'  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Joseph,  proceeding  to  place  it  in  the 
window,  his  new  friend  following  him  about,  spaniel- 
wise  ;  "  but  you  had  better  let  me  say  plainly  that  it  is 
for  sale." 

"  Oh — I  don't  care — niais — my  rillation'  will  never 
forgive  me  !  Mais — go-ahead-I-don't-care  !  'Tis  for 
sale." 

"  Sieur  Frowenfel',"  he  resumed,  as  they  came  away 
from  the  window,  "  one  week  ago  " — he  held  up  one 


ART  AND    COMMERCE.  147 

finger — "what  I  was  doing?  Makin'  bill  of  ladin',  my 
faith  ! — for  my  cousin  Honore  !  an'  now,  1  ham  a  hartis'  ! 
So  soon  I  foun'  dat,  I  say,  'Cousin  Honore,' " —the 
eloquent  speaker  lifted  his  foot  and  administered  to  the 
empty  air  a  soft,  polite  kick — "I  never  goin'  to  do 
anoder  lick  o'  work  so  long  I  live  ;  adieu  !  " 

He  lifted  a  kiss  from  his  lips  and  wafted  it  in  the 
direction  of  his  cousin's  office. 

"  Mr.  Innerarity,"  exclaimed  the  apothecary,  "  I  fear 
you  are  making  a  great  mistake." 

"  You  tink  I  hass  too  much  ?  " 

"Well,  sir,  to  be  candid,  I  do;  but  that  is  not  your 
greatest  mistake." 

"  What  she's  worse?" 

The  apothecary  simultaneously  smiled  and  blushed. 

"I  would  rather  not  say  ;  it  is  a  passably  good  ex 
ample  of  Creole  art ;  there  is  but  one  way  by  which  it 
can  ever  be  worth  what.you  ask  for  it." 

"What  dat  is?" 

The  smile  faded  and  the  blush  deepened  as  Frovven- 
feld  replied  : 

"If  it  could  become  the  means  of  reminding  this 
community  that  crude  ability  counts  next  to  nothing  in 
art,  and  that  nothing  else  in  this  world  ought  to  work 
so  hard  as  genius,  it  would  be  worth  thousands  of 
dollars  !  " 

"You  tink  she  is  worse  a  t'ousand  dollah  ?  "  asked 
the  Creole,  shadow  and  sunshine  chasing  each  other 
across  his  face. 

"  No,  sir." 

The  unwilling  critic  strove  unnecessarily  against  his 
smile. 

"  Ow  much  you  t'ink  ?  " 


148  THE    GRANDISS1MES. 

"  Mr.  Innerarity,  as  an  exercise  it  is  worth  whatever 
truth  or  skill  it  has  taught  you  ;  to  a  judge  of  paintings 
it  is  ten  dollars'  worth  of  paint  thrown  away  ;  but  as  an 
article  of  sale  it  is  worth  what  it  will  bring  without 
misrepresentation. " 

"  Two — hun-rade  an' — fifty — dollahs  or — not'in'  !  " 
said  the  indignant  Creole,  clenching  one  fist,  and  with 
the  other  hand  lifting  his  hat  by  the  front  corner  and 
slapping  it  down  upon  the  counter.  "  Ha,  ha,  ha!  a 
pase  of  waint — a  wase  of  paint!  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  you 
don'  know  not'in'  'bout  it !  You  har  a  jedge  of  paint 
ing?  "  he  added  cautiously. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Eh,  bien  !  foudre  tonnerre  ! — look  yeh  !  you  know  ? 
'Sieur  Frowenfel'  ?  Dat  de  way  de  publique  halways 
talk  about  a  hartis's  firs'  pigshoe.  But,  I  hass  you  to 
pardon  me,  Monsieur  Frowenfel',  if  I  'ave  speak  a  lill 
too  warm." 

"Then  you  must  forgive  me  if,  in  my  desire  to  set 
you  right,  I  have  spoken  with  too  much  liberty.  I 
probably  should  have  said  only  what  I  first  intended  to 
say,  that  unless  you  are  a  person  of  independent 
means — 

"You  t'ink  I  would  make  bill  of  ladin' ?  Ah! 
Hm-m  !  " 

"  -  — that  you  had  made  a  mistake  in  throwing  up 
your  means  of  support — 

"  But  'e  'as  fill  de  place  an'  don'  want  me  no  mo'. 
You  want  a  clerk  ? — one  what  can  speak  fo'  lang-widge 
— French,  Eng-lish,  Spanish,  an'  Italienne  ?  Come  !  I 
work  for  you  in  de  mawnin'  an'  paint  in  de  evenin'  ; 
come  !  " 

Joseph    was    taken    unaware.       He   smiled,    frowned, 


ART  AND    COMMERCE.  149 

passed  his  hand  across  his  brow,  noticed,  for  the  first 
time  since  his  delivery  of  the  picture,  the  naked  little 
boy  standing  against  the  edge  of  a  door,  said,  "  Why 

— ,"  and  smiled  again. 

"  I  rififer  you  to  my  cousin  Honore,"  said  Innerarity. 

"  Have  you  any  knowledge  of  this  business  ?  '' 

"  I  'ave." 

"  Can  you  keep  shop  in  the  forenoon  or  afternoon  in 
differently,  as  I  may  require?  " 

"  Eh  ?     Forenoon — afternoon  ?  "  was  the  reply. 

"  Can  you  paint  sometimes  in  the  morning  and  keep 
shop  in  the  evening  ?  " 

"  Yes,  seh." 

Minor  details  were  arranged  on  the  spot.  Raoul  dis 
missed  the  black  boy,  took  off  his  coat  and  fell  to  work 
decanting  something,  with  the  understanding  that  his 
salary,  a  microscopic  one,  should  begin  from  date  if  his 
cousin  should  recommend  him. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',"  he  called  from  under  the  counter, 
later  in  the  day,  "  you  t'ink  it  would  be  hanny  disgrace 
to  paint  de  pigshoe  of  a  niggah  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  Ah,  my  soul !  what  a  pigshoe  I  could  paint  of  Bras- 
Coupe  !  " 

We  have  the  afflatus  in  Louisiana,  if  nothing  else. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A   VERY   NATURAL  MISTAKE. 

MR.  RAOUL  INNERARITY  proved  a  treasure.  The 
fact  became  patent  in  a  few  hours.  To  a  student  of  the 
community  he  was  a  key,  a  lamp,  a  lexicon,  a  micro 
scope,  a  tabulated  statement,  a  book  of  heraldry,  a  city 
directory,  a  glass  of  wine,  a  Book  of  Days,  a  pair  of 
wings,  a  comic  almanac,  a  diving  bell,  a  Creole  veritas. 
Before  the  day  had  had  time  to  cool,  his  continual  stream 
of  words  had  done  more  to  elucidate  the  mysteries  in 
which  his  employer  had  begun  to  be  befogged  than  half 
a  year  of  the  apothecary's  slow  and  scrupulous  guessing. 
It  was  like  showing  how  to  carve  a  strange  fowl.  The 
way  he  dovetailed  story  into  story  and  drew  forward  in 
panoramic  procession  Lufki-Humma  and  Epaminondas 
Fusilier,  Zephyr  Grandissime  and  the  lady  of  the  lettre 
de  cachet,  Demosthenes  De  Grapion  and  the  fille  a  Hio- 
pital,  George  De  Grapion  and  the  fille  a  la  cassette, 
Numa  Grandissime,  father  of  the  two  Honores,  young 
Naricanou  and  old  Agricola, — the  way  he  made  them 

"  Knit  hands  and  beat  the  ground 
In  a  light,  fantastic  round," 

would  have   shamed  the   skilled  volubility  of  Shehara- 
zade. 

"Look!"   said  the  story-teller,  summing  up;    "you 


A    VERY  NATURAL   MISTAKE.  ISI 

take  hanny  'istory  of  France  an'  see  the  hage  of  my  fam- 
ilie.  Pipple  talk  about  de  Boulignys,  de  Sauves,  de 
Grandpres,  de  Lemoynes,  de  St.  Maxents, — bla-a-a  1 
De  Grandissimes  is  as  hole  as  de  dev'  !  What  ?  De 
mose  of  de  Creole  families  is  not  so  hold  as  plenty  of  my 
yallah  kinfolks !  " 

The  apothecary  found  very  soon  that  a  little  salt  im 
proved  M.  Raoul's  statements. 

But  here  he  was,  a  perfect  treasure,  and  Frowenfeld, 
fleeing  before  his  illimitable  talking  power  in  order  to 
digest  in  seclusion  the  ancestral  episodes  of  the  Grandis 
simes  and  De  Grapions,  laid  pleasant  plans  for  the  imme 
diate  future.  To-morrow  morning  he  would  leave  the 
shop  in  Raoul's  care  and  call  on  M.  Honore  Grandissime 
to  advise  with  him  concerning  the  retention  of  the 
born  artist  as  a  drug-clerk.  To-morrow  evening  he 
would  pluck  courage  and  force  his  large  but  bashful  feet 
up  to  the  door-step  of  Number  19  rue  Bienville.  And 
the  next  evening  he  would  go  and  see  what  might  be 
the  matter  with  Doctor  Keene,  who  had  looked  ill  on  last 
parting  with  the  evening  group  that  lounged  in  Frowen- 
feld's  door,  some  three  days  before.  The  intermediate 
hours  were  to  be  devoted,  of  course,  to  the  prescription 
desk  and  his  "  dead  stock." 

And  yet  after  this  order  of  movement  had  been  thus 
compactly  planned,  there  all  the  more  seemed  still  to  be 
that  abroad  which,  now  on  this  side,  and  now  on  that, 
was  urging  him  in  a  nervous  whisper  to  make  haste. 
There  had  escaped  into  the  air,  it  seemed,  and  was  glid 
ing  about,  the  expectation  of  a  crisis. 

Such  a  feeling  would  have  been  natural  enough  to  the 
tenants  of  Number  19  rue  Bienville,  now  spending  the 
tenth  of  the  eighteen  days  of  grace  allowed  them  in 


152  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

which  to  save  their  little  fortress.  For  Palmyre's  assur 
ance  that  the  candle-burning  would  certainly  cause  the 
rent-money  to  be  forthcoming  in  time  was  to  Clotilde 
unknown,  and  to  Aurora  it  was  poor  stuff  to  make  peace 
of  mind  of.  But  there  was  a  degree  of  impractibility  in 
these  ladies,  which,  if  it  was  unfortunate,  was,  neverthe 
less,  a  part  of  their  Creole  beauty,  and  made  the  absence 
of  any  really  brilliant  outlook  what  the  galaxy  makes  a 
moonless  sky.  Perhaps  they  had  not  been  as  diligent 
as  they  might  have  been  in  canvassing  all  possible  ways 
and  means  for  meeting  the  pecuniary  emergency  so  fast 
bearing  down  upon  them.  From  a  Creole  standpoint, 
they  were  not  bad  managers.  They  could  dress  delight 
fully  on  an  incredibly  small  outlay  ;  could  wear  a  well- 
to-do  smile  over  an  inward  sigh  of  stifled  hunger  ;  could 
tell  the  parents  of  their  one  or  two  scholars  to  consult 
their  convenience,  and  then  come  home  to  a  table  that 
would  make  any  kind  soul  weep  ;  but  as  to  estimating 
the  velocity  of  bills,  payable  in  their  orbits,  such  trained 
sagacity  was  not  theirs.  Their  economy  knew  how  to 
avoid  what  the  Creole- African  apothegm  calls  commerce 
Man  Lison—qui  assetd  poii  trois picaillons  et  vend!  pou* 
ein  escalin  (bought  for  three  picayunes  and  sold  for  two) ; 
but  it  was  an  economy  that  made  their  very  hound  a 
Spartan  ;  for,  had  that  economy  been  half  as  wise  as  it 
was  heroic,  his  one  meal  a  day  would  not  always  have 
been  the  cook's  leavings  of  cold  rice  and  the  lickings  of 
the  gumbo  plates. 

On  the  morning  fixed  by  Joseph  Frowenfeld  for  call 
ing  on  M.  Grandissime,  on  the  banquette  of  the  rue 
Toulouse,  directly  in  front  of  an  old  Spanish  archway 
and  opposite  a  blacksmith's  shop, — this  blacksmith's  shop 
stood  between  a  jeweller's  store  and  a  large,  balconied 


A    VERY  NATURAL   MISTAKE.  153 

and  dormer-windowed  wine-warehouse — Aurore  Nanca- 
nou,  closely  veiled,  had  halted  in  a  hesitating  way  and 
was  inquiring  of  a  gigantic  negro  cartman  the  where 
abouts  of  the  counting-room  of  M.  Honore  Grandis- 
sime. 

Before  he  could  respond  she  descried  the  name  upon 
a  staircase  within  the  archway,  and,  thanking  the  cart 
man  as  she  would  have  thanked  a  prince,  hastened  to 
ascend.  An  inspiring  smell  of  warm  rusks,  coming  from 
a  bakery  in  the  paved  court  below,  rushed  through  the 
archway  and  up  the  stair  and  accompanied  her  into  the 
cemetery-like  silence  of  the  counting-room.  There  were 
in  the  department  some  fourteen  clerks.  It  was  a  den 
of  Grandissimes.  More  than  half  of  them  were  men 
beyond  middle  life,  and  some  were  yet  older.  One  or 
two  are  so  handsome,  under  their  noble  silvery  locks, 
that  almost  any  woman — Clotilde,  for  instance, — would 
have  thought,  "  No  doubt  that  one,  or  that  one,  is  the 
head  of  the  house."  Aurora  approached  the  railing 
which  shut  in  the  silent  toilers  and  directed  her  eyes  to 
the  farthest  corner  of  the  room.  There  sat  there  at  a 
large  desk  a  thin,  sickly-looking  man  with  very  sore 
eyes  and  two  pairs  of  spectacles,  plying  a  quill  with  a 
privileged  loudness. 

"  H-h-m-m  !  "  said  she,  very  softly. 

A  young  man  laid  down  his  rule  and  stepped  to  the 
rail  with  a  silent  bow.  His  face  showed  a  jaded  look. 
Night  revelry,  rather  than  care  or  years,  had  wrinkled  it ; 
but  his  bow  was  high-bred. 

"Madame," — in  an  undertone. 

"  Monsieur,  it  is  M.  Grandissime  whom  I  wish  to  see," 
she  said,  in  French. 

But  the  young  man  responded  in  English. 


154  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  You  bar  one  tenant,  ent  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  seh." 

"  Zen  eet  ees  M.  De  Brahmin  zat  you  'ave  to  see." 

"  No,  seh  ;  M.  Grandissime." 

"  M.  Grandissime  nevva  see  one  tenant." 

"  I  muz  see  M.  Grandissime." 

Aurora  lifted  her  veil  and  laid  it  up  on  her  bonnet. 

The  clerk  immediately  crossed  the  floor  to  the  distant 
desk.  The  quill  of  the  sore-eyed  man  scratched  louder 
— scratch,  scratch — as  though  it  were  trying  to  scratch 
under  the  door  of  Number  19  rue  Bienville — for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  ceased.  The  clerk,  with  one  hand  be 
hind  him  and  one  touching  the  desk,  murmured  a  few 
words,  to  which  the  other,  after  glancing  under  his  arm 
at  Aurora,  gave  a  short,  low  reply  and  resumed  his  pen. 
The  clerk  returned,  came  through  a  gate-way  in  the 
railing,  led  the  way  into  a  rich  inner  room,  and  turning 
with  another  courtly  bow,  handed  her  a  cushioned  arm 
chair  and  retired. 

"  After  eighteen  years,"  thought  Aurora,  as  she  found 
herself  alone.  It  had  been  eighteen  years  since  any  repre 
sentative  of  the  De  Grapion  line  had  met  a  Grandissime 
face  to  face,  so  far  as  she  knew  ;  even  that  representa 
tive  was  only  her  deceased  husband,  a  mere  connection 
by  marriage.  How  many  years  it  was  since  her  grand 
father,  Georges  De  Grapion,  captain  of  dragoons,  had 
had  his  fatal  meeting  with  a  Mandarin  de  Grandissime, 
she  did  not  remember.  There,  opposite  her  on  the  wall, 
was  the  portrait  of  a  young  man  in  a  corslet  who  might 
have  been  M.  Mandarin  himself.  She  felt  the  blood  of 
her  race  growing  warmer  in  her  veins.  "  Insolent  tribe," 
she  said,  without  speaking,  "  we  have  no  more  men  left  to 
fight  you  ;  but  now  wait.  See  what  a  woman  can  do." 


A    VERY  NATURAL   MISTAKE.  1 55 

These  thoughts  ran  through  her  mind  as  her  eye 
passed  from  one  object  to  another.  Something  re 
minded  her  of  Frowenfeld,  and,  with  mingled  defiance 
at  her  inherited  enemies  and  amusement  at  the  apothe 
cary,  she  indulged  in  a  quiet  smile.  The  smile  was  still 
there  as  her  glance  in  its  gradual  sweep  reached  a  small 
mirror. 

She  almost  leaped  from  her  seat. 

Not  because  that  mirror  revealed  a  recess  which  she 
had  not  previously  noticed  ;  not  because  behind  a  costly 
desk  therein  sat  a  youngish  man,  reading  a  letter  ;  not 
because  he  might  have  been  observing  her,  for  it  was 
altogether  likely  that,  to  avoid  premature  interruption, 
he  had  avoided  looking  up  ;  nor  because  this  was  evi 
dently  Honore  Grandissime  ;  but  because  Honore  Grand- 
issime,  if  this  were  he,  was  the  same  person  whom  she 
had  seen  only  with  his  back  turned  in  the  pharmacy — 
the  rider  whose  horse  ten  days  ago  had  knocked  her 
down,  the  Lieutenant  of  Dragoons  who  had  unmasked 
and  to  whom  she  had  unmasked  at  the  ball  !  Fly ! 
But  where  ?  How  ?  It  was  too  late  ;  she  had  not  even 
time  to  lower  her  veil.  M.  Grandissime  looked  up  at 
the  glass,  dropped  the  letter  with  a  slight  start  of  con 
sternation  and  advanced  quickly  toward  her.  For  an 
instant  her  embarrassment  showed  itself  in  a  mantling 
blush  and  a  distressful  yearning  to  escape  ;  but  the  next 
moment  she  rose,  all  a-flutter  within,  it  is  true,  but  with 
a  face  as  nearly  sedate  as  the  inborn  witchery  of  her  eyes 
would  allow. 

He  spoke  in  Parisian  French  : 

"  Please  be  seated,  madame." 

She  sank  down, 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  me  ?  " 


I  $  THE    GKAND1SSIMES. 

"No,  sir." 

She  did  not  see  her  way  out  of  this  falsehood,  but — 
she  couldn't  say  yes. 

Silence  followed. 

"  Whom  do " 

"  I  wish  to  see  M.  Honore  Grandissime." 

"  That  is  my  name,  madame." 

"Ah!"— with  an  angelic  smile;  she  had  collected 
her  wits  now,  and  was  ready  for  war.  "  You  are  not 
one  of  his  clerks  ?  " 

M.  Grandissime  smiled  softly,  while  he  said  to  him 
self:  "You  little  honey-bee,  you  want  to  sting  me, 
eh  ?  "  and  then  he  answered  her  question. 

"  No,  madame  ;  I  am  the  gentleman  you  are  looking 
for." 

"  The  gentleman  she  was  look — "her  pride  resented 
the  fact.  "  Me  !  " — thought  she — "  I  am  the  lady  whom, 
I  have  not  a  doubt,  you  have  been  longing  to  meet  ever 
since  the  ball ;  "  but  her  look  was  unmoved  gravity. 
She  touched  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips  and  handed 
him  the  rent  notice. 

"  I  received  that  from  your  office  the  Monday  before 
last." 

There  was  a  slight  emphasis  in  the  announcement  of 
the  time  ;  it  was  the  day  of  the  run  over. 

Honore  Grandissime,  stopping  with  the  rent-notice 
only  half  unfolded,  saw  the  advisability  of  calling  up  all 
the  resources  of  his  sagacity  and  wit  in  order  to  answer 
wisely  ;  and  as  they  answered  his  call  a  brighter  nobility 
so  overspread  face  and  person  that  Aurora  inwardly  ex 
claimed  at  it  even  while  she  exulted  in  her  thrust. 

"  Monday  before  last  ?  " 

She  slightly  bowed. 


A    VERY  NATURAL   MISTAKE.  157 

"  A  serious  misfortune  befell  me  that  day,"  said  M. 
Grandissime. 

"  Ah  ?  "  replied  the  lady,  raising  her  brows  with  polite 
distress,  "  but  you  have  entirely  recovered,  I  suppose." 

"  It  was  I,  madame,  who  that  evening  caused  you 
a  mortification  for  which  I  fear  you  will  accept  no 
apology." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Aurora,  with  an  air  of  gen 
erous  protestation,  "it  is  I  who  should  apologize  ;  I 
fear  I  injured  your  horse." 

M.  Grandissime  only  smiled,  and  opening  the  rent- 
notice  dropped  his  glance  upon  it  while  he  said  in  a  pre 
occupied  tone : 

"  My  horse  is  very  well,  I  thank  you." 

But  as  he  read  the  paper,  his  face  assumed  a  serious 
air  and  he  seemed  to  take  an  unnecessary  length  of  time 
to  reach  the  bottom  of  it. 

"  He  is  trying  to  think  how  he  will  get  rid  of  me," 
thought  Aurora  ;  "he  is  making  up  some  pretext  with 
which  to  dismiss  me,  and  when  the  tenth  of  March 
comes  we  shall  be  put  into  the  street." 

M.  Grandissime  extended  the  letter  toward  her,  but 
she  did  not  lift  her  hands. 

"  I  beg  to  assure  you,  madame,  I  could  never  have 
permitted  this  notice  to  reach  you  from  my  office  ;  I  am 
not  the  Honore  Grandissime  for  whom  this  is  signed." 

Aurora  smiled  in  a  way  to  signify  clearly  that  that 
was  just  the  subterfuge  she  had  been  anticipating. 
Had  she  been  at  home  she  would  have  thrown  herself, 
face  downward,  upon  the  bed  ;  but  she  only  smiled 
meditatively  upward  at  the  picture  of  an  East  Indian 
harbor  and  made  an  unnecessary  re-arrangement  of  her 
handkerchief  under  her  folded  hands. 


I  58  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"There  are,  you  know," — began  Honore,  with  a 
smile  which  changed  the  meaning  to  "  You  know  very 
well  there  are" — "two  Honore  Grandissimes.  This 
one  who  sent  you  this  letter  is  a  man  of  color 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Aurora,  with  a  sudden  malicious 
sparkle. 

"  If  you  will  entrust  this  paper  to  me,"  said  Honore, 
quietly,  "  I  will  see  him  and  do  now  engage  that  you 
shall  have  no  further  trouble  about  it.  Of  course,  I  do 
not  mean  that  I  will  pay  it,  myself;  I  dare  not  offer  to 
take  such  a  liberty." 

Then  he  felt  that  a  warm  impulse  had  carried  him  a 
step  too  far. 

Aurora  rose  up  with  a  refusal  as  firm  as  it  was  silent. 
She  neither  smiled  nor  scintillated  now,  but  wore  an  ex 
pression  of  amiable  practicality  as  she  presently  said, 
receiving  back  the  rent-notice  as  she  spoke  : 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  but  it  might  seem  strange  to  him 
to  find  his  notice  in  the  hands  of  a  person  who  can  claim 
no  interest  in  the  matter.  I  shall  have  to  attend  to  it 
myself." 

"Ah!  little  enchantress,"  thought  her  grave-faced 
listener,  as  he  gave  attention,  "this,  after  all — ball  and 
all — is  the  mood  in  which  you  look  your  very,  very 
best " — a  fact  which  nobody  knew  better  than  the  en 
chantress  herself. 

He  walked  beside  her  toward  the  open  door  leading 
back  into  the  counting-room,  and  the  dozen  and  more 
clerks,  who,  each  by  some  ingenuity  of  his  own,  man 
aged  to  secure  a  glimpse  of  them,  could  not  fail  to  feel 
that  they  had  never  before  seen  quite  so  fair  a  couple. 
But  she  dropped  her  veil,  bowed  M.  Grandissime  a 
polite  "  No  farther,"  and  passed  out. 


A    VERY  NATURAL   MISTAKE.  159 

M.  Grandissime  walked  once  up  and  down  his  private 
office,  gave  the  door  a  soft  push  with  his  foot  and 
lighted  a  cigar. 

The  clerk  who  had  before  acted  as  usher  came  in  and 
handed  him  a  slip  of  paper  with  a  name  written  on  it. 
M.  Grandissime  folded  it  twice,  gazed  out  the  window, 
and  finally  nodded.  The  clerk  disappeared,  and  Joseph 
Frowenfeld  paused  an  instant  in  the  door  and  then  ad 
vanced,  with  a  buoyant  good-morning. 

"Good-morning,"  responded  M.  Grandissime. 

He  smiled  and  extended  his  hand,  yet  there  was  a 
mechanical  and  preoccupied  air  that  was  not  what  Jo 
seph  felt  justified  in  expecting. 

"  How  can  I  serve  you,  Mr.  Frhowenfeld  ?  "  asked 
the  merchant,  glancing  through  into  the  counting-room. 
His  coldness  was  almost  all  in  Joseph's  imagination,  but 
to  the  apothecary  it  seemed  such  that  he  was  nearly  in 
duced  to  walk  away  without  answering.  However,  he 
replied  : 

"  A  young  man  whom  I  have  employed  refers  to  you 
to  recommend  him." 

"  Yes,  sir?     Prhay,  who  is  that  ?  " 

"Your  cousin,  I  believe,  Mr.  Raoul  Innerarity." 

M.  Grandissime  gave  a  low,  short  laugh,  and  took  two 
steps  toward  his  desk. 

"  Rhaoul  ?  Oh  yes,  I  rhecommend  Rhaoul  to  you. 
As  an  assistant  in  yo'  sto'  ? — the  best  man  you  could 
find." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Joseph,  coldly.  "Good- 
morning  !  "  he  added,  turning  to  go. 

"Mr.  Frhowenfeld,"  said  the  other,  "do  you  evva 
rhide  ?  " 

"  I  used  to  ride,"  replied  the  apothecary,  turning,  hat 


l6O  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

in  hand,  and  wondering  what  such  a  question  could 
mean. 

"  If  I  send  a  saddle-hoss  to  yo'  do'  on  day  aftah  to- 
morrhow  evening  at  fo'  o'clock,  will  you  rhide  out  with 
me  for-h  about  a  hour-h  and  a  half — just  for  a  little 
pleasu'e  ?  " 

Joseph  was  yet  more  astonished  than  before.  He 
hesitated,  accepted  the  invitation,  and  once  more  said 
good-morning. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

DOCTOR  KEENE  RECOVERS  HIS  BULLET. 

IT  early  attracted  the  apothecary's  notice,  in  observing 
the  civilization  around  him,  that  it  kept  the  flimsy  false 
bottoms  in  its  social  errors  only  by  incessant  reiteration. 
As  he  re-entered  the  shop,  dissatisfied  with  himself  for 
accepting  M.  Grandissime's  invitation  to  ride,  he  knew 
by  the  fervent  words  which  he  overheard  from  the  lips 
of  his  employee  that  the  f.  m.  c.  had  been  making  one 
of  his  reconnoisances,  and  possibly  had  ventured  in  to 
inquire  for  his  tenant. 

"I  fink,  me,  dat  hanny  w'ite  man  is  a  gen'leman  ; 
but  I  don't  care  if  a  man  are  good  like  a  h-angel,  if  'e 
har  not  pu'e  w'ite,  'ozu  can  'e  be  a  gen'leman  ?  " 

Raoul's  words  were  addressed  to  a  man  who,  as  he 
rose  up  and  handed  Frowenfeld  a  note,  ratified  the 
Creole's  sentiment  by  a  spurt  of  tobacco  juice  and  an 
affirmative  "  Hm-m." 

The  note  was  a  lead-pencil  scrawl,  without  date. 

"  DEAR  JOE  .  Come  and  see  me  some  time  this  evening.  I  am  on  my 
back  in  bed.  Want  your  help  in  a  little  matter. 

Yours, 

KEENE. 
I  have  found  out  who " 

Frowenfeld  pondered  :  "  I  have  found  out  who  — 

"     Ah  !  Doctor  Keene  had  found  out  who  stabbed 

Agricola. 


1 62  THE    GRAND1SSIMES. 

Some  delays  occurred  in  the  afternoon,  but  toward  sun 
set  the  apothecary  dressed  and  went  out.  From  the  doc 
tor's  bedside  in  the  rue  St.  Louis,  if  not  delayed  beyond 
all  expectation,  he  would  proceed  to  visit  the  ladies  at 
Number  19  rue  Bienville.  The  air  was  growing  cold  and 
threatening  bad  weather. 

He  found  the  Doctor  prostrate,  wasted,  hoarse,  cross, 
and  almost  too  weak  for  speech.  He  could  only  whisper, 
as  his  friend  approached  his  pillow  : 

"  These  vile  lungs  !  " 

"  Hemorrhage?  " 

The  invalid  held  up  three  small,  freckled  fingers. 

Joseph  dared  not  show  pity  in  his  gaze,  but  it  seemed 
savage  not  to  express  some  feeling,  so  after  standing  a 
moment  he  began  to  say  : 

"  I  am  very  sorry— 

"  You  needn't  bother  yourself!  "  whispered  the  Doc 
tor,  who  lay  frowning  upward.  By  and  by  he  whispered 
again. 

Frowenfeld  bent  his  ear,  and  the  little  man,  so  merry 
when  well,  repeated,  in  a  savage  hiss: 

"  Sit  down!  " 

It  was  some  time  before  he  again  broke  the  silence. 

"  Tell  you  what  I  want — you  to  do — for  me." 

"Well,  sir " 

"Hold  on!"  gasped  the  invalid,  shutting  his  eyes 
with  impatience, — "  till  I  get  through." 

He  lay  a  little  while  motionless,  and  then  drew  from 
under  his  pillow  a  wallet,  and  from  the  wallet  a  pistol- 
ball. 

"  Took  that  out — a  badly  neglected  wound — last  day  I 
saw  you."  Here  a  pause,  an  appalling  cough,  and  by 
and  by  a  whisper  :  ''knew  the  bullet  in  an  instant."  He 


DOCTOR  KEENE  RECOVERS  HIS  BULLET.          163 

smiled  wearily.  "Peculiar  size."  He  made  a  feeble 
motion.  Frowenfeld  guessed  the  meaning  of  it  and 
handed  him  a  pistol  from  a  small  table.  The  ball  slipped 
softly  home.  "  Refused  two  hundred  dollars — those 
pistols  " — with  a  sigh  and  closed  eyes.  By  and  by  again 
— "  Patient  had  smart  fever — but  it  will  be  gone — time 
you  get — there.  Want  you  to — take  care — t'  I  get  up." 

"  But,  Doctor— 

The  sick  man  turned  away  his  face  with  a  petulant 
frown  ;  but  presently,  with  an  effort  at  self-control, 
brought  it  back  and  whispered  : 

"  You  mean  you — not  physician  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  No.  No  more  are  half — doc's.  You  can  do  it. 
Simple  gun-shot  wound  in  the  shoulder."  A  rest. 
"  Pretty  wound  ;  ranges  " — he  gave  up  the  effort  to 
describe  it.  "  You'll  see  it."  Another  rest.  "  You  see 
— this  matter  has  been  kept  quiet  so  far.  I  don't  want 
any  one — else  to  know — anything  about  it."  He  sighed 
audibly  and  looked  as  though  he  had  gone  to  sleep,  but 
whispered  again,  with  his  eyes  closed — "  'specially  on 
culprit's  own  account." 

Frowenfeld  was  silent :  but  the  invalid  was  waiting  for 
an  answer,  and,  not  getting  it,  stirred  peevishly. 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  go  to-night  ?  "  asked  the  apothe 
cary. 

"  To-morrow  morning.     Will  you ?  " 

"  Certainly,  Doctor." 

The  invalid  lay  quite  still  for  several  minutes,  looking 
steadily  at  his  friend,  and  finally  let  a  faint  smile  play 
about  his  mouth, — a  wan  reminder  of  his  habitual 
roguery. 

"  Good  boy,"  he  whispered. 


1 64  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

Frowenfeld  rose  and  straightened  the  bed-clothes,  took 
a  few  steps  about  the  room,  and  finally  returned.  The 
Doctor's  restless  eye  had  followed  him  at  every  move 
ment. 

"  You'll  go?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  apothecary,  hat  in  hand  ;  "  where 
is  it?" 

"  Corner  Bienville  and  Bourbon, — upper  river  corner, 
— yellow  one-story  house,  door-steps  on  street.  You 
know  the  house  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  do." 

"Good-night.  Here!  — I  wish  you  would  send  that 
black  girl  in  here — as  you  go  out — make  me  better  fire 
— Joe  !  "  the  call  was  a  ghostly  whisper. 

Frowenfeld  paused  in  the  door. 

"  You  don't  mind  my — bad  manners,  Joe  ?  " 

The  apothecary  gave  one  of  his  infrequent  smiles. 

"No,  Doctor." 

He  started  toward  No.  19  rue  Bienville  ;  but  a  light, 
cold  sprinkle  set  in,  and  he  turned  back  toward  his  shop. 
No  sooner  had  the  rain  got  him  there  than  it  stopped,  as 
rain  sometimes  will  do. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

WARS   WITHIN   THE    BREAST. 

THE  next  morning  came  in  frigid  and  gray.  The  un 
seasonable  numerals  which  the  meteorologist  recorded 
in  his  tables  might  have  provoked  a  superstitious  lover 
of  better  weather  to  suppose  that  Monsieur  Danny,  the 
head  imp  of  discord,  had  been  among  the  aerial  currents. 
The  passionate  southern  sky,  looking  down  and  seeing 
some  six  thousand  to  seventy-five  hundred  of  her  favorite 
children  disconcerted  and  shivering,  tried  in  vain,  for 
two  hours,  to  smile  upon  them  with  a  little  frozen  sun 
shine,  and  finally  burst  into  tears. 

In  thus  giving  way  to  despondency,  it  is  sad  to  say, 
the  sky  was  closely  imitating  the  simultaneous  behavior  of 
Aurora  Nancanou.  Never  was  pretty  lady  in  cheerier 
mood  than  that  in  which  she  had  come  home  from 
Honore's  counting-room.  Hard  would  it  be  to  find  the 
material  with  which  to  build  again  the  castles-in-air  that 
she  founded  upon  two  or  three  little  discoveries  there 
made.  Should  she  tell  them  to  Clotilde?  Ah  !  and  for 
what?  No,  Clotilde  was  a  dear  daughter — ha!  few 
women  were  capable  of  having  such  a  daughter  as 
Clotilde  ;  but  there  were  things  about  which  she  was 
entirely  too  scrupulous.  So,  when  she  came  in  from 
that  errand,  profoundly  satisfied  that  she  would  in  future 
hear  no  more  about  the  rent  than  she  might  choose  to 


1 66  THE    GRANDISSLWES. 

hear,  she  had  been  too  shrewd  to  expose  herself  to  her 
daughters  catechising.  She  would  save  her  little  re 
velations  for  disclosure  when  they  might  be  used  to 
advantage.  As  she  threw  her  bonnet  upon  the  bed,  she 
exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  gentle  and  wearied  reproach  : 

"Why  did  you  not  remind  me  that  M.  Honore  Gran- 
dissime,  that  precious  somebody-great,  has  the  honor  to 
rejoice  in  a  quadroon  half-brother  of  the  same  illustrious 
name  ?  Why  did  you  not  remind  me,  eh  ?  " 

"Ah  !  and  you  know  it  as  well  as  A,  B,  C,"  playfully 
retorted  Clotilde. 

"  Well,  guess  which  one  is  our  landlord  ?  " 

"  Which  one?  " 

"  Ma  foi  /  how  do  7  know  ?  I  had  to  wait  a  shameful 
long  time  to  see  Monsieur  le  prince, — just  because  I  am 
a  De  Grapion,  I  know.  When  at  last  I  saw  him,  he 
says,  '  Madame,  this  is  the  other  Honore  Grandissime.' 
There,  you  see  we  are  the  victims  of  a  conspiracy  ;  if  I 
go  to  the  other,  he  will  send  me  back  to  the  first.  But, 
Clotilde,  my  darling,"  cried  the  beautiful  speaker,  beam 
ingly,  "  dismiss  all  fear  and  care  ;  we  shall  have  no  more 
trouble  about  it." 

"  And  how,  indeed,  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"Something  tells  it  to  me  in  my  ear.  I  feel  it! 
Trust  in  Providence,  my  child.  Look  at  me,  how  happy 
I  am  ;  but  you — you  never  trust  in  Providence.  That 
is  why  we  have  so  much  trouble, — because  you  don't 
trust  in  Providence.  Oh !  I  am  so  hungry,  let  us  have 
dinner." 

"  What  sort  of  a  person  is  M.  Grandissime  in  his  ap 
pearance  ?  "  asked  Clotilde,  over  their  feeble  excuse  for 
a  dinner. 

"  What  sort  ?     Do  you  imagine  I  had  nothing  better 


WARS    WITHIN   THE  BREAST.  l6/ 

to  do  than  notice  whether  a  Grandissime  is  good-looking 

or  not  ?  For  all  I  know  to  the  contrary,  he  is some 

more  rice,  please,  my  dear.'' 

But  this  light-heartedness  did  not  last  long.  It  was 
based  on  an  unutterable  secret,  all  her  own,  about  which 
she  still  had  trembling  doubts  ;  this,  too,  notwithstanding 
her  consultation  of  the  dark  oracles.  She  was  going  to 
stop  that.  In  the  long  run,  these  charms  and  spells  them 
selves  bring  bad  luck.  Moreover,  the  practice,  indulged 
in  to  excess,  was  wicked,  and  she  had  promised  Clotilde, 
—that  droll  little  saint, — to  resort  to  them  no  more. 
Hereafter,  she  should  do  nothing  of  the  sort,  except,  to 
be  sure,  to  take  such  ordinary  precautions  against  mis 
fortune  as  casting  upon  the  floor  a  little  of  whatever  she 
might  be  eating  or  drinking  to  propitiate  M.  Assonquer. 
She  would  have  liked,  could  she  have  done  it  without 
fear  of  detection,  to  pour  upon  the  front  door-sill  an 
oblation  of  beer  sweetened  with  black  molasses  to  Papa 
Lebat  (who  keeps  the  invisible  keys  of  all  the  doors  that 
admits  suitors,  but  she  dared  not  ;  and  then,  the  hound 
would  surely  have  licked  it  up.  Ah  me  !  was  she  for 
getting  that  she  was  a  widow  ? 

She  was  in  poor  plight  to  meet  the  all  but  icy  gray 
morning ;  and,  to  make  her  misery  still  greater,  she 
found,  on  dressing,  that  an  accident  had  overtaken  her, 
which  she  knew  to  be  a  trustworthy  sign  of  love  grown 
cold.  She  had  lost — alas  !  how  can  we  communicate  it 
in  English  ! — a  small  piece  of  lute-string  ribbon,  about 
so  longt  which  she  used  for — not  a  necktie  exactly, 
but— 

And  she  hunted  and  hunted,  and  couldn't  bear  to  give 
up  the  search,  and  sat  down  to  breakfast  and  ate  nothing, 
and  rose  up  and  searched  again  (not  that  she  cared  for 


1 68  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

the  omen),  and  struck  the  hound  with  the  broom,  and 
broke  the  broom,  and  hunted  again,  and  looked  out  the 
front  window,  and  saw  the  rain  beginning  to  fall,  and 
dropped  into  a  chair — crying  "  Oh  !  Clotilde,  my  child, 
my  child  !  the  rent  collector  will  be  here  Saturday  and 
turn  us  into  the  street  !  "  and  so  fell  a-weeping. 

A  little  tear-letting  lightened  her  unrevealable  burden, 
and  she  rose,  rejoicing  that  Clotilde  had  happened  to  be 
out  of  eye-and-ear-shot.  The  scanty  fire  in  the  fire 
place  was  ample  to  warm  the  room  ;  the  fire  within  her 
made  it  too  insufferably  hot  !  Rain  or  no  rain,  she 
parted  the  window-curtains  and  lifted  the  sash.  What 
a  mark  for  Love's  arrow  she  was,  as,  at  the  window,  she 
stretched  her  two  arms  upward  !  And,  "  right  so,"  who 
should  chance  to  come  cantering  by,  the  big  drops  of 
rain  pattering  after  him,  but  the  knightiest  man  in  that 
old  town,  and  the  fittest  to  perfect  the  fine  old-fashioned 
poetry  of  the  scene  ! 

"Clotilde,"  said  Aurora,  turning  from  her  mirror, 
whither  she  had  hastened  to  see  if  her  face  showed  signs 
of  tears  (Clotilde  was  entering  the  room),  "we  shall 
never  be  turned  out  of  this  house  by  Honoru  Grandis- 
sime!" 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Clotilde,  stopping  short  in  the  floor, 
forgetting  Aurora's  trust  in  Providence,  and  expecting 
to  here  that  M.  Grandissime  had  been  found  dead  in  his 
bed. 

"  Because  I  saw  him  just  now  ;  he  rode  by  on  horse 
back.  A  man  with  that  noble  face  could  never  do  sucJi 
a  tiling  !  " 

The  astonished  Clotilde  looked  at  her  mother  search- 
ingly.  This  sort  of  speech  about  a  Grandissime  ?  But 
Aurora  was  the  picture  of  innocence. 


WARS    WITHIN    THE   BREAST.  169 

Clotilde  uttered  a  derisive  laugh. 

"  Impertinente  !  "  exclaimed  the  other,  laboring  not 
to  join  in  it. 

"  Ah-h-h  !  "  cried  Clotilde,  in  the  same  mood,  "  and 
what  face  had  he  when  he  wrote  that  letter  ?  " 

"  What  face  ?  " 

"  Yes,  what  face  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  what  face  you  mean,"  said  Aurora. 

"What  face,"  repeated  Clotilde,  "  had  Monsieur  Ho 
nor^  de  Grandissime  on  the  day  that  he  wrote — 

"  Ah,  f-fah  !  "  cried  Aurora,  and  turned  away,  "  you 
don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about !  You  make 
me  wish  sometimes  that  I  were  dead !  " 

Clotilde  had  gone  and  shut  down  the  sash,  as  it  be 
gan  to  rain  hard  and  blow.  As  she  was  turning  away, 
her  eye  was  attracted  by  an  object  at  a  distance. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Aurora,  from  a  seat  before  the 
fire. 

''Nothing,"  said  Clotilde,  weary  of  the  sensational, — 
"  a  man  in  the  rain." 

It  was  the  apothecary  of  the  rue   Royale,   turning 
from  that  street  toward  the  rue   Bourbon,  and  bowing 
his  head  against  the  swirling  norther. 
8 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

FROWENFELD    KEEPS   HIS   APPOINTMENT. 

DOCTOR  KEENE,  his  ill-humor  slept  off,  lay  in  bed  in 
a  quiescent  state  of  great  mental  enjoyment.  At  times 
he  would  smile  and  close  his  eyes,  open  them  again  and 
murmur  to  himself,  and  turn  his  head  languidly  and 
smile  again.  And  when  the  rain  and  wind,  all  tangled 
together,  came  against  the  window  with  a  whirl  and  a 
slap,  his  smile  broadened  almost  to  laughter. 

"  He's  in  it,"  he  murmured,  "  he's  just  reaching  there. 
I  would  give  fifty  dollars  to  see  him  when  he  first  gets 
into  the  house  and  sees  where  he  is." 

As  this  wish  was  finding  expression  on  the  lips  of  the 
little  sick  man,  Joseph  Frowenfeld  was  making  room  on 
a  narrow  door-step  for  the  outward  opening  of  a  pair 
of  small  batten  doors,  upon  which  he  had  knocked  with 
the  vigorous  haste  of  a  man  in  the  rain.  As  they  parted, 
he  hurriedly  helped  them  open,  darted  within,  heedless 
of  the  odd  black  shape  which  shuffled  out  of  his  way, 
wheeled  and  clapped  them  shut  again,  swung  down  the 
bar  and  then  turned,  and  with  the  good-natured  face 
that  properly  goes  with  a  ducking,  looked  to  see  where 
he  was. 

One  object — around  which  everything  else  instantly 
became  nothing — set  his  gaze.  On  the  high  bed,  whose 
hangings  of  blue  we  have  already  described,  silently  re- 


FROWENFELD  KEEPS  HIS  APPOINTMENT.          17 1 

garding  the  intruder  with  a  pair  of  eyes  that  sent  an  icy 
thrill  through  him  and  fastened  him  where  he  stood,  lay 
Palmyre  Philosophe.  Her  dress  was  a  long,  snowy 
morning-gown,  wound  loosely  about  at  the  waist  with  a 
cord  and  tassel  of  scarlet  silk  ;  a  bright-colored  woollen 
shawl  covered  her  from  the  waist  down,  and  a  necklace 
of  red  coral  heightened  to  its  utmost  her  untamable 
beauty. 

An  instantaneous  indignation  against  Doctor  Keene 
set  the  face  of  the  speechless  apothecary  on  fire,  and 
this,  being  as  instantaneously  comprehended  by  the 
philosophe,  was  the  best  of  introductions.  Yet,  her 
gaze  did  not  change. 

The  Congo  negress  broke  the  spell  with  a  bristling 
protest,  all  in  African  b's  and  k's,  but  hushed  and  drew 
off  at  a  single  word  of  command  from  her  mistress. 

In  Frowenfeld's  mind  an  angry  determination  was 
taking  shape,  to  be  neither  trifled  with  nor  contemned. 
And  this  again  the  quadroon  discerned,  before  he  was 
himself  aware  of  it. 

"Doctor  Keene" he  began,  but  stopped,  so  un 
comfortable  were  her  eyes. 

She  did  not  stir  or  reply. 

Then  he  bethought  him  with  a  start,  and  took  off  his 
dripping  hat. 

At  this  a  perceptible  sparkle  of  imperious  approval 
shot  along  her  glance ;  it  gave  the  apothecary  speech. 

"The  doctor  is  sick,  and  he  asked  me  to  dress  your 
wound." 

She  made  the  slightest  discernible  motion  of  the  head, 
remained  for  a  moment  silent,  and  then,  still  with  the 
same  eye,  motioned  her  hand  toward  a  chair  near  a 
comfortable  fire. 


172  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

He  sat  down.  It  would  be  well  to  dry  himself.  He 
drew  near  the  hearth  and  let  his  gaze  fall  into  the  fire. 
When  he  presently  lifted  his  eyes  and  looked  full  upon 
the  woman  with  a  steady,  candid  glance,  she  was  re 
garding  him  with  appa'rent  coldness,  but  with  secret  dili 
gence  and  scrutiny,  and  a  yet  more  inward  and  secret 
surprise  and  admiration.  Hard  rubbing  wras  bringing 
out  the  grain  of  the  apothecary.  But  she  presently 
suppressed  the  feeling.  She  hated  men. 

But  Frowenfeld,  even  while  his  eyes  met  hers,  could 
not  resent  her  hostility.  This  monument  of  the  shame 
of  two  races — this  poisonous  blossom  of  crime  growing 
out  of  crime — this  final,  unanswerable  white  man's  ac 
cuser — this  would-be  murderess — what  ranks  and  com 
panies  would  have  to  stand  up  in  the  Great  Day  with 
her  and  answer  as  accessory  before  the  fact !  He  looked 
again  into  the  fire. 

The  patient  spoke  : 

"  Eh  bi'n,  Michtf"  Her  look  was  severe,  but  less 
aggressive.  The  shuffle  of  the  old  negress's  feet  was 
heard  and  she  appeared  bearing  warm  and  cold  water 
and  fresh  bandages  ;  after  depositing  them  she  tarried. 

"  Your  fever  is  gone,"  said  Frowenfeld,  standing  by 
the  bed.  He  had  laid  his  fingers  on  her  wrist.  She 
brushed  them  off  and  once  more  turned  full  upon  him 
the  cold  hostility  of  her  passionate  eyes. 

The  apothecary,  instead  of  blushing,  turned  pale. 

"You — "  he  was  going  to  say,  "  You  insult  me  ;  " 
but  his  lips  came  tightly  together.  Two  big  cords  ap 
peared  between  his  brows,  and  his  blue  eyes  spoke  for 
him.  Then,  as  the  returning  blood  rushed  even  to  his 
forehead,  he  said,  speaking  his  words  one  by  one: 

"  Please  understand  that  you  must  trust  me." 


FROWENFELD  KEEPS  HIS  APPOINTMENT.         1/3 

She  may  not  have  understood  his  English,  but  she 
comprehended,  nevertheless.  She  looked  up  fixedly 
for  a  moment,  then  passively  closed  her  eyes.  Then 
she  turned,  and  Frowenfeld  put  out  one  strong  arm, 
helped  her  to  a  sitting  posture  on  the  side  of  the  bed 
and  drew  the  shawl  about  her. 

"  Zizi,"  she  said,  and  the  negress,  who  had  stood  per 
fectly  still  since  depositing  the  water  and  bandages, 
came  forward  and  proceeded  to  bare  the  philosophe's 
superb  shoulder.  As  Frowenfeld  again  put  forward  his 
hand,  she  lifted  her  own  as  if  to  prevent  him,  but  he 
kindly  and  firmly  put  it  away  and  addressed  himself 
with  silent  diligence  to  his  task  ;  and  by  the  time  he  .had 
finished,  his  womanly  touch,  his  commanding  gentle 
ness,  his  easy  despatch,  had  inspired  Palmyre  not  only 
with  a  sense  of  safety,  comfort,  and  repose,  but  with  a 
pleased  wonder. 

This  woman  had  stood  all  her  life  with  dagger  drawn, 
on  the  defensive  against  what  certainly  was  to  her  an 
unmerciful  world.  With  possibly  one  exception,  the 
man  now  before  her  was  the  only  one  she  had  ever  en 
countered  whose  speech  and  gesture  were  clearly  keyed 
to  that  profound  respect  which  is  woman's  first,  founda 
tion  claim  on  man.  And  yet  by  inexorable  decree,  she 
belonged  to  what  we  used  to  call  "  the  happiest  people 
under  the  sun."  We  ought  to  stop  saying  that. 

So  far  as  Palmyre  knew,  the  entire  masculine  wing  of 
the  mighty  and  exalted  race,  three-fourths  of  whose 
blood  bequeathed  her  none  of  its  prerogatives,  regarded 
her  as  legitimate  prey.  The  man  before  her  did  not. 
There  lay  the  fundamental  difference  that,  in  her  sight,  as 
soon  as  she  discovered  it,  glorified  him.  Before  this  as 
surance  the  cold  fierceness  of  her  eyes  gave  way,  and  a 


174  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

friendlier  light  from  them  rewarded  the  apothecary's 
final  touch.  He  called  for  more  pillows,  made  a  nest  of 
them,  and,  as  she  let  herself  softly  into  it,  directed  his 
next  consideration  toward  his  hat  and  the  door. 

It  was  many  an  hour  after  he  had  backed  out  into  the 
trivial  remains  of  the  rain-storm  before  he  could  replace 
with  more  tranquillizing  images  the  vision  of  the  philoso- 
phe  reclining  among  her  pillows,  in  the  act  of  making 
that  uneasy  movement  of  her  fingers  upon  the  collar 
button  of  her  robe,  which  women  make  when  they  are 
uncertain  about  the  perfection  of  their  dishabille,  and 
giving  her  inaudible  adieu  with  the  majesty  of  an  em 
press. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

FROWENFELD  MAKES  AN  ARGUMENT. 

ON  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  on  which  Frowen- 
feld  visited  the  house  of  the  philosophe,  the  weather, 
which  had  been  so  unfavorable  to  his  late  plans, 
changed  ;  the  rain  ceased,  the  wind  drew  around  to  the 
south,  and  the  barometer  promised  a  clear  sky.  Where 
fore  he  decided  to  leave  his  business,  when  he  should 
have  made  his  evening  weather  notes,  to  the  care  of  M. 
Raoul  Innerarity,  and  venture  to  test  both  Mademoiselle 
Clotilde's  repellent  attitude  and  Aurora's  seeming  cor 
diality  at  No.  19  rue  Bienville. 

Why  he  should  go  was  a  question  which  the  apothe 
cary  felt  himself  but  partially  prepared  to  answer. 
What  necessity  called  him,  what  good  was  to  be  ef 
fected,  what  was  to  happen  next,  were  points  he  would 
have  liked  to  be  clear  upon.  That  he  should  be  going 
merely  because  he  was  invited  to  come — merely  for  the 
pleasure  of  breathing  their  atmosphere — that  he  should 
be  supinely  gravitating  toward  them — this  conclusion  he 
positively  could  not  allow  ;  no,  no  ;  the  love  of  books 
and  the  fear  of  women  alike  protested. 

True,  they  were  a  part  of  that  book  which  is  pro 
nounced  "the  proper  study  of  mankind," — indeed,  that 
was  probably  the  reason  which  he  sought :  he  was  go 
ing  to  contemplate  them  as  a  frontispiece  to  that  un- 


I  76  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

writeable  volume  which  he  had  undertaken  to  con. 
Also,  there  was  a  charitable  motive.  Doctor  Keene, 
months  before,  had  expressed  a  deep  concern  regarding 
their  lack  of  protection  and  even  of  daily  provision  ;  he 
must  quietly  look  into  that.  Would  some  unforeseen 
circumstance  shut  him  off  this  evening  again  from  this 
very  proper  use  of  time  and  opportunity  ? 

As  he  was  sitting  at  the  table  in  his  back  room,  regis 
tering  his  sunset  observations,  and  wondering  what 
would  become  of  him  if  Aurora  should  be  out  and  that 
other  in,  he  was  startled  by  a  loud,  deep  voice  exclaim 
ing,  close  behind  him  : 

"  Eh,  bicn  !  Monsieur  le  Professenr  !  " 

Frowenfeld  knew  by  the  tone,  before  he  looked  behind 
him,  that  he  would  find  M.  Agricola  Fusilier  very  red 
in  the  face  ;  and  when  he  looked,  the  only  qualification 
he  could  make  was  that  the  citizen's  countenance  was  not 
so  ruddy  as  the  red  handkerchief  in  which  his  arm  was 
hanging. 

"  What  have  you  there  ?  "  slowly  continued  the  patri 
arch,  taking  his  free  hand  off  his  fettered  arm  and  laying 
it  upon  the  page  as  Frowenfeld  hurriedly  rose,  and  en 
deavored  to  shut  the  book. 

"  Some  private  memoranda,"  answered  the  metereolo- 
gist,  managing  to  get  one  page  turned  backward,  red 
dening  with  confusion  and  indignation,  and  noticing  that 
Agricola's  spectacles  were  upside  down. 

"Private!  Eh?  No,  such  thing,  sir!  Professor 
Frowenfeld,  allow  me  "  (a  classic  oath)  "  to  say  to  your 
face,  sir,  that  you  are  the  most  brilliant  and  the  most 
valuable  man — of  your  years — in  afflicted  Louisiana  ! 
Ha!"  (reading):  "'Morning  observation;  Cathedral 
clock,  7  A.  M.  Thermometer  70  degrees.'  Ha  !  '  Hy- 


FROWENFELD  MAKES  AN  ARGUMENT.  177 

grometer  15' — but  this  is  not  to-day's  weather?  Ah! 
no.  Ha!  'Barometer  30.380.'  Ha!  'Sky  cloudy, 
dark  ;  wind,  south,  light.'  Ha  !  '  River  rising.'  Ha  ! 
Professor  Frowenfeld,  when  will  you  give  your  splendid 
services  to  your  section  ?  You  must  tell  me,  my  son, 
for  I  ask  you,  my  son,  not  from  curiosity,  but  out  of  im 
patient  interest." 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  shall  ever  publish  my  tables,"  re 
plied  the  "  son,"  pulling  at  the  book. 

"  Then,  sir,  in  the  name  of  Louisiana,"  thundered  the 
old  man,  clinging  to  the  book,  "  I  can  !  They  shall  be 
published  !  Ah  !  yes,  dear  Frowenfeld.  The  book,  of 
course,  will  be  in  French,  eh  ?  You  would  not  so  affront 
the  most  sacred  prejudices  of  the  noble  people  to  whom 
you  owe  everything  as  to  publish  it  in  English  ?  You — 
ah  !  have  we  torn  it  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  write  French,"  said  the  apothecary,  laying 
the  torn  edges  together. 

"  Professor  Frowenfeld,  men  are  born  for  each  other. 
What  do  I  behold  before  me  ?  I  behold  before  me, 
in  the  person  of  my  gifted  young  friend,  a  supplement 
to  myself!  Why  has  Nature  strengthened  the  soul  of 
Agricola  to  hold  the  crumbling  fortress  of  this  body 
until  these  eyes — which  were  once,  my  dear  boy,  as 
proud  and  piercing  as  the  battled  steed's — have  become 
dim  ?  " 

Joseph's  insurmountable  respect  for  gray  hairs  kept 
him  standing,  but  he  did  not  respond  with  any  conjecture 
as  to  Nature's  intentions,  and  there  was  a  stern  silence. 

The  crumbling  fortress  resumed,  his  voice  pitched  low 
like  the  beginning  of  the  long  roll.  He  knew  Nature's 
design. 

"  It   was    in   order    that   you,    Professor   Frowenfeld, 


1/8  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

might  become  my  vicar  !  Your  book  shall  be  in  French  ! 
We  must  give  it  a  wide  scope  !  It  shall  contain  valuable 
geographical,  topographical,  biographical,  and  historical 
notes.  It  shall  contain  complete  lists  of  all  the  officials' 
in  the  province  (I  don't  say  territory,  I  say  province) 
with  their  salaries  and  perquisites  ;  ah  !  we  will  expose 
that !  And — ha !  I  will  write  some  political  essays  for 
it.  Raoul  shall  illustrate  it.  Honore  shall  give  you 
money  to  publish  it.  Ah  !  Professor  Frowenfeld,  the  star 
of  your  fame  is  rising  out  of  the  waves  of  oblivion  !  Come 
—I  dropped  in  purposely  to  ask  you — come  across  the 
street  and  take  a  glass  of  taffia  with  Agricola  Fusilier." 

This  crowning  honor  the  apothecary  was  insane  enough 
to  decline,  and  Agricola  went  away  with  many  profes 
sions  of  endearment,  but  secretly  offended  because  Joseph 
had  not  asked  about  his  wound. 

All  the  same  the  apothecary,  without  loss  of  time,  de 
parted  for  the  yellow- washed  cottage,  No.  19  rue  Bien- 
ville. 

"To-morrow,  at  four  P.  M.,"  he  said  to  himself,  "if 
the  weather  is  favorable,  I  ride  with  M.  Grandissime." 

He  almost  saw  his  books  and  instruments  look  up  at 
him  reproachfully. 

The  ladies  were  at  home.  Aurora  herself  opened  the 
door,  and  Clotilde  came  forward  from  the  bright  fire 
place  with  a  cordiality  never  before  so  unqualified. 
There  was  something  about  these  ladies — in  their  sim 
ple,  but  noble  grace,  in  their  half-Gallic,  half-classic 
beauty,  in  a  jocund  buoyancy  mated  to  an  amiable  dig 
nity — that  made  them  appear  to  the  scholar  as  though 
they  had  just  bounded  into  life  from  the  garlanded  pro 
cession  of  some  old  fresco.  The  resemblance  was  not  a 
little  helped  on  by  the  costume  of  the  late  Revolution 


FROIVENFELD  MAKES  AN  ARGUMENT.  1/9 

(most  acceptably  chastened  and  belated  by  the  distance 
from  Paris).  Their  black  hair,  somewhat  heavier  on 
Clotilde's  head,  where  it  rippled  once  or  twice,  was 
knotted  en  Grecquc,  and  adorned  only  with  the  spoils  of 
a  nosegay  given  to  Clotilde  by  a  chivalric  small  boy  in 
the  home  of  her  music  scholar. 

"  We  was  expectin'  you  since  several  days,"  said  Clo 
tilde,  as  the  three  sat  down  before  the  fire,  Frowenfeld 
in  a  cushioned  chair  whose  moth-holes  had  been  care 
fully  darned. 

Frowenfeld  intimated,  with  tolerable  composure,  that 
matters  beyond  his  control  had  delayed  his  coming  be 
yond  his  intention. 

"You  gedd'n'  ridge,"  said  Aurora,  dropping  her 
wrists  across  each  other. 

Frowenfeld,  for  once,  laughed  outright,  and  it  seemed 
so  odd  in  him  to  do  so  that  both  the  ladies  followed  his 
example.  The  ambition  to  be  rich  had  never  entered 
his  thought,  although  in  an  unemotional,  German  way, 
he  was  prospering  in  a  little  city  where  wealth  was  daily 
pouring  in,  and  a  man  had  only  to  keep  step,  so  to  say, 
to  march  into  possessions. 

"  You  hought  to  'ave  a  mo'  larger  sto'  an'  some 
clerque,"  pursued  Aurora. 

The  apothecary  answered  that  he  was  contemplating 
the  enlargement  of  his  present  place  or  removal  to  a 
roomier,  and  that  he  had  already  employed  an  assistant. 

"  Oo  it  is,  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  ?  " 

Clotilde  turned  toward  the  questioner  a  remonstrative 
glance. 

"  His  name,"  replied  Frowenfeld,  betraying  a  slight 
embarrassment,  "is — Innerarity ;  Mr.  Raoul  Innera- 
rity  ;  he  is — 


I  SO  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  Ee  pain'  dad  pigtu'  w'at  'angin'  in  yo'  window?" 

Clotilda's  remonstrance  rose  to  a  slight  movement  and 
a  murmur. 

Frowenfeld  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  possibly 
betrayed  the  faint  shadow  of  a  smile.  The  response  was 
a  peal  of  laughter  from  both  ladies. 

"  He  is  an  excellent  drug  clerk,"  said  Frowenfeld,  de 
fensively. 

Whereat  Aurora  laughed  again,  leaning  over  and 
touching  Clotilde's  knee  with  one  finger. 

"  An'  excellen'  drug  cl' —  ha,  ha,  ha !  oh  !  " 

"  You  muz  poddcn  uz,  M'sieu'  Frowenfel',"  said  Clo- 
tilde,  with  forced  gravity. 

Anrora  sighed  her  participation  in  the  apology  ;  and, 
a  few  moments  later,  the  apothecary  and  both  ladies 
(the  one  as  fond  of  the  abstract  as  the  other  two  were 
ignorant  of  the  concrete)  were  engaged  in  an  animated, 
running  discussion  on  art,  society,  climate,  education, — 
all  those  large,  secondary  desiderata  which  seem  of  first 
importance  to  young  ambition  and  secluded  beauty, 
flying  to  and  fro  among  these  subjects  with  all  the 
liveliness  and  uncertainty  of  a  game  of  pussy-wants- 
a-corner. 

Frowenfeld  had  never  before  spent  such  an  hour.  At 
its  expiration,  he  had  so  well  held  his  own  against  both 
the  others,  that  the  three  had  settled  down  to  this  sort 
of  entertainment :  Aurora  would  make  an  assertion,  or 
Clotilde  would  ask  a  question  ;  and  Frowenfeld,  moved 
by  that  frankness  and  ardent  zeal  for  truth  which  had  en 
listed  the  early  friendship  of  Doctor  Keene,  amused  and 
attracted  Honore'  Grandissime,  won  the  confidence  of 
the  f.  m.  c.,  and  tamed  the  fiery  distrust  and  enmity  of 
Palmyre,  would  present  his  opinions  withoift  the  thought 


FR O  WEXFELD  MAKES  AN  ARC UMENT.  1 8 1 

of  a  reservation  either  in  himself  or  his  hearers.  On 
their  part,  they  would  sit  in  deep  attention,  shielding 
their  faces  from  the  fire,  and  responding  to  enunciations 
directly  contrary  to  their  convictions  with  an  occasional 
"yes-seh,"or  "  ceddenly,"  or  "  of  coze,"  or, — prettier 
affirmation  still, — a  solemn  drooping  of  the  eyelids,  a 
slight  compression  of  the  lips,  and  a  low,  slow  declina 
tion  of  the  head. 

"  The  bane  of  all  Creole  art-effort" — (we  take  up  the 
apothecary's  words  at  a  point  where  Clotilde  was  lean 
ing  forward  and  slightly  frowning  in  an  honest  attempt 
to  comprehend  his  condensed  English) — "  the  bane  of  all 
Creole  art-effort,  so  far  as  I  have  seen  it,  is  amateurism." 

"  Amateu — "  murmured  Clotilde,  a  little  beclouded 
on  the  main  word  and  distracted  by  a  French  difference 
of  meaning,  but  planting  an  elbow  on  one  knee  in  the 
genuineness  of  her  attention,  and  responding  with  a 
bow. 

"  That  is  to  say,"  said  Frowenfeld,  apologizing  for  the 
homeliness  of  his  further  explanation  by  a  smile,  "  a  kind 
of  ambitious  indolence  that  lays  very  large  eggs,  but 
can  neither  see  the  necessity  for  building  a  nest  before 
hand,  nor  command  the  patience  to  hatch  the  eggs  after 
ward." 

"  Of  coze,"  said  Aurora. 

"  It  is  a  great  pity,"  said  the  sermonizer,  looking  at 
the  face  of  Clotilde,  elongated  in  the  brass  andiron  ; 
and,  after  a  pause  :  "  Nothing  on  earth  can  take  the 
place  of  hard  and  patient  labor.  But  that,  in  this  com 
munity,  is  not  esteemed  ;  most  sorts  of  it  are  con 
temned  ;  the  humbler  sorts  are  despised,  and  the  higher 
are  regarded  with  mingled  patronage  and  commiser 
ation.  Most  of  those  who  come  to  my  shop  with  their 


1 82  THE    GRANDISS1MES. 

efforts  at  art,  hasten  to  explain,  either  that  they  are 
merely  seeking  pastime,  or  else  that  they  are  driven  to 
their  course  by  want  ;  and  if  I  advise  them  to  take  their 
work  back  and  finish  it,  they  take  it  back  and  never  re 
turn.  Industry  is  not  only  despised,  but  has  been  de 
graded  and  disgraced,  handed  over  into  the  hands  of 
African  savages." 

"  Doze  Creole'  is  lezzy"  said  Aurora. 

"  That  is  a  hard  word  to  apply  to  those  who  do  not 
consciously  deserve  it,"  said  Frowenfeld  ;  "  but  if  they 
could  only  wake  up  to  the  fact, — find  it  out  them 
selves " 

"  Ceddenly,"  said  Clotilda. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',"  said  Aurora,  leaning  her  head 
on  one  side,  "  some  pipple  thing  it  is  doze  climade  ;  'ow 
you  lag  doze  climade  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  suppose,"  replied  the  visitor,  "  there  is  a 
more  delightful  climate  in  the  world." 

"  Ah-h-h  !  " — both  ladies  at  once,  in  a  low,  gracious 
tone  of  acknowledgment. 

"  I  thing  Louisiana  is  a  paradize-me  !  "  said  Aurora. 
"  Were  you  goin'  fin'  sudge  a  h-air  ?  "  She  respired  a 
sample  of  it.  "  Were  you  goin'  fin'  sudge  a  so  ridge 
groun'  ?  De  weed'  in  my  bag  yard  is  twenny-five  feet 
'igh  !  " 

"Ah!  maman  !" 

"  Twenty-six ! "  said  Aurora,  correcting  herself. 
"  Were  you  fin'  sudge  a  reevcr  lag  dad  Mississippi  ? 
On  dit"  she  said,  turning  to  Clotilde,  "que  scs  caux  ont 
la  propric'te'  de  contribucr  me  me  a  multiplier  Vespcce  hu- 
maine — ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

Clotilde  turned  away  an  unmoved  countenance  to  hear 
Frowenfeld. 


FK O WENFELD  MAKES  AN  ARC UMENT.  1 8 3 

Frowenfeld  had  contracted  a  habit  of  falling  into 
meditation  whenever  the  French  language  left  him  out 
of  the  conversation. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  breaking  a  contemplative  pause, 
"  the  climate  is  too  comfortable  and  the  soil  too  rich, — 
though  I  do  not  think  it  is  entirely  on  their  account  that 
the  people  who  enjoy  them  are  so  sadly  in  arrears  to  the 
civilized  world."  He  blushed  with  the  fear  that  his  talk 
was  bookish,  and  felt  grateful  to  Clotilde  for  seeming  to 
understand  his  speech. 

"  Wad  you  fin'  de  rizzon  is,  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  philosophize,"  he  answered. 

"  Mais,  go  hon."  '  "  Mais,  go  ahade,"  said  both 
ladies,  settling  themselves. 

"It  is  largely  owing,"  exclaimed  Frowenfeld,  with 
sudden  fervor,  "  to  a  defective  organization  of  society, 
Avhich  keeps  this  community,  and  will  continue  to  keep 
it  for  an  indefinite  time  to  come,  entirely  unprepared 
and  disinclined  to  follow  the  course  of  modern  thought." 

"  Of  coze,"  murmured  Aurora,  who  had  lost  her 
bearings  almost  at  the  first  word. 

"  One  great  general  subject  of  thought  now  is  human 
rights, — universal  human  rights.  The  entire  literature 
of  the  world  is  becoming  tinctured  with  contradictions 
of  the  dogmas  upon  which  society  in  this  section  is  built. 
Human  rights  is,  of  all  subjects,  the  one  upon  which  this 
community  is  most  violently  determined  to  hear  no  dis 
cussion.  It  has  pronounced  that  slavery  and  caste  are 
right,  and  sealed  up  the  whole  subject.  What,  then,  will 
they  do  with  the  world's  literature  ?  They  will  coldly 
decline  to  look  at  it,  and  will  become,  more  and  more  as 
the  world  moves  on,  a  comparatively  illiterate  people." 


1 84  THE    GRANDISSLMES. 

"  Bud,  'Sieur  Frowenfel',"  said  Clotilde,  as  Frowen- 
feld  paused — Aurora  was  stunned  to  silence, — "  de 
Unitee  State'  goin'  pud  doze  nigga'  free,  aind  it  ?  " 

Frowenfeld  pushed  his  hair  hard  back.  He  was  in 
the  stream  now,  and  might  as  well  go  through. 

"  [  have  heard  that  charge  made,  even  by  some 
Americans.  I  do  not  know.  But  there  is  a  slavery 
that  no  legislation  can  abolish, — the  slavery  of  caste. 
That,  like  all  the  slaveries  on  earth,  is  a  double  bondage. 
And  what  a  bondage  it  is  which  compels  a  community, 
in  order  to  preserve  its  established  tyrannies,  to  walk 
behind  the  rest  of  the  intelligent  world  !  What  a  bond 
age  is  that  which  incites  a  people  to  adopt  a  system  of 
social  and  civil  distinctions,  possessing  all  the  enormities 
and  none  of  the  advantages  of  those  systems  which 
Europe  is  learning  to  despise  !  This  system,  moreover, 
is  only  kept  up  by  a  flourish  of  weapons.  We  have  here 
what  you  may  call  an  armed  aristocracy.  The  class  over 
which  these  instruments  of  main  force  are  held  is  chosen 
for  its  servility,  ignorance,  and  cowardice  ;  hence,  indo 
lence  in  the  ruling  class.  When  a  man's  social  or  civil 
standing  is  not  dependent  on  his  knowing  how  to  read, 
he  is  not  likely  to  become  a  scholar." 

"  Of  coze,"  said  Aurora,  with  a  pensive  respiration, 
"  I  thing  id  is  doze  climade,"  and  the  apothecary  stop 
ped,  as  a  man  should  who  finds  himself  unloading  large 
philosophy  in  a  little  parlor. 

"  I  thing,  me,  dey  hought  to  pud  doze  quadroon' 
free  ?  "  It  was  Clotilde  who  spoke,  ending  with  the 
rising  inflection  to  indicate  the  tentative  character  of  this 
daringly  premature  declaration. 

Frowenfeld  did  not  answer  hastily. 

"  The  quadroons,"  said  he,  "  want  a  great  deal  more 


FR O WENFELD  MAKES  AN  ARC UMENT.  1 8 5 

than  mere  free  papers  can  secure  them.  Emancipation 
before  the  law,  though  it  may  be  a  right  which  man  has 
no  right  to  withhold,  is  to  them  little  more  than  a  mock-'1 
ery  until  they  achieve  emancipation  in  the  minds  and 
good  will  of  the  people — '  the  people,'  did  I  say  ?  I 
mean  the  ruling  class."  He  stopped  again.  One  must 
inevitably  feel  a  little  silly,  setting  up  tenpins  for  ladies 
who  are  too  polite,  even  if  able,  to  bowl  them  down. 

Aurora  and  the  visitor  began  to  speak  simultaneously  ; 
both  apologized,  and  Aurora  said  : 

"  "Sieur  Frowenfel',  w'en  I  was  a  lill'  girl," — and 
Frowenfeld  knew  that  he  was  going  to  hear  the  story  of 
Palmyre.  Clotilde  moved,  with  the  obvious  intention 
to  mend  the  fire.  Aurora  asked,  in  French,  why  she 
did  not  call  the  cook  to  do  it,  and  Frowenfeld  said, 
"  Let  me," — threw  on  some  wood,  and  took  a  seat 
nearer  Clotilde.  Aurora  had  the  floor. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

AURORA   AS   A    HISTORIAN. 

ALAS  !  the  phonograph  was  invented  three-quarters 
of  a  century  too  late.  If  type  could  entrap  one-half  the 
pretty  oddities  of  Aurora's  speech, — the  arch,  the  pathe 
tic,  the  grave,  the  earnest,  the  matter-of-fact,  the  ecsta 
tic  tones  of  her  voice, — nay,  could  it  but  reproduce  the 
movement  of  her  hands,  the  eloquence  of  her  eyes,  or 
the  shapings  of  her  mouth, — ah  !  but  type — even  the 
phonograph — is  such  an  inadequate  thing  !  Sometimes 
she  laughed  ;  sometimes  Clotilde,  unexpectedly  to  her 
self,  joined  her  ;  and  twice  or  thrice  she  provoked  a 
similar  demonstration  from  the  ox-like  apothecary, — to 
her  own  intense  anusement.  Sometimes  she  shook  her 
head  in  solemn  scorn  ;  and,  when  Frowenfeld,  at  a 
certain  point  »where  Palmyre's  fate  locked  hands  for  a 
time  with  that  of  Bras-Coupe,  asked  a  fervid  question 
concerning  that  strange  personage,  tears  leaped  into  her 
eyes,  as  she  said  : 

"  Ah  !  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  iv  I  tra  to  tell  de  sto'y  of 
Bras  Coupe,  I  goin'  to  cry  lag  a  lill  bebby." 

The  account  of  the  childhood  days  upon  the  planta 
tion  at  Cannes  Brulee  may  be  passed  "by.  It  was  early 
in  Palmyre's  fifteenth  year  that  that  Kentuckian,  '  mutual 
friend  '  of  her  master  and  Agricola,  prevailed  with  M.  de 
Grapion  to  send  her  to  the  paternal  Grandissimc  mansion, 


AURORA    AS  A    HISTORIAN.  l8/ 

— a  complimentary  gift,  through  Agricola,  to  Mademoi 
selle,  his  niece, — returnable  ten  years  after  date. 

The  journey  was  made  in  safety  ;  and,  by  and  by, 
Palmyre  was  presented  to  her  new  mistress.  The  occa 
sion  was  notable.  In  a  great  chair  in  the  centre  sat  the 
grandpcrc,  a  Chevalier  de  Grandissime,  whose  business 
had  narrowed  down  to  sitting  on  the  front  veranda  and 
wearing  his  decorations, — the  cross  of  St.  Louis  being 
one  ;  on  his  right,  Colonel  Numa  Grandissime,  with  one 
arm  dropped  around  Honore,  then  a  boy  of  Palmyre's 
age,  expecting  to  be  off  in  sixty  days  for  France  ;  and 
on  the  left,  with  Honore's  fair  sister  nestled  against  her, 
"  Madame  Numa,"  as  the  Creoles  would  call  her,  a 
stately  woman  and  beautiful,  a  great  admirer  of  her 
brother  Agricola.  (Aurora  took  pains  to  explain  that 
she  received  these  minutiae  from  Palmyre  herself  in  later 
years.)  One  other  member  of  the  group  was  a  young 
don  of  some  twenty  years'  age,  not  an  inmate  of  the 
house,  but  only  a  cousin  of  Aurora  on  her  deceased 
mother's  side.  To  make  the  affair  complete,  and  as  a 
seal  to  this  tacit  Grandissime- de-Grapion  treaty,  this 
sole  available  representative  of  the  "other  side  "  was 
made  a  guest  for  the  evening.  Like  the  true  Span 
iard  that  he  was,  Don  Jos£  Martinez  fell  deeply  in  love 
with  Honore's  sister.  Then  there  came  Agricola  lead 
ing  in  Palmyre.  There  were  others,  for  the  Grandissime 
mansion  was  always  full  of  Grandissimes  ;  but  this  was 
the  central  group. 

In  this  house  Palmyre  grew  to  womanhood,  retaining 
without  interruption  the  place  into  which  she  seemed  to 
enter  by  right  of  indisputable  superiority  over  all  com 
petitors, — the  place  of  favorite  attendant  to  the  sister  of 
Honore.  Attendant,  we  say,  for  servant  she  never 


1 88  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

seemed.  She  grew  tall,  arrowy,  lithe,  imperial,  dili 
gent,  neat,  thorough,  silent.  Her  new  mistress,  though 
scarcely  at  all  her  senior,  was  yet  distinctly  her  mistress  ; 
she  had  that  through  her  Fusilier  blood  ;  experience 
was  just  then  beginning  to  show  that  the  Fusilier  Gran- 
dissime  was  a  superb  variety  ;  she  was  a  mistress  one 
could  wish  to  obey.  Palmyre  loved  her,  and  through 
her  contact  ceased,  for  a  time  at  least,  to  be  the  pet  leo 
pard  she  had  been  at  the  Cannes  Brulee. 

Honore  went  away  to  Paris  only  sixty  days  after  Pal 
myre  entered  the  house.  But  even  that  was  not  soon 
enough. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',"  said  Aurora,  in  her  recital, 
"  Palmyre,  she  never  tole  me  dad,  mais  I  am  shoe,  shoe 
dad  she  fall  in  love  wid  Honore  Grandissime.  'Sieur 
Frowenfel',  I  thing  dad  Honore  Grandissime  is  one 
bad  man,  ent  it  ?  Whad  you  thing,  'Sieur  Frowen 
fel' ?" 

"  I  think,  as  I  said  to  you  the  last  time,  that  he  is 
one  of  the  best,  as  I  know  that  he  is  one  of  the  kindest 
and  most  enlightened  gentlemen  in  the  city,"  said  the 
apothecary. 

"  Ah,  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  !   ha,  ha  !  " 

"  That  is  my  conviction." 

The  lady  went  on  with  her  story. 

"  Hanny'ow,  I  know  she  continue  in  love  wid  'im  all 
doze  ten  year'  w'at  'e  been  gone.  She  baig  Mademoi 
selle  Grandissime  to  wrad  dad  ledder  to  my  papa  to  ass 
to  kip  her  two  years  mo'." 

Here  Aurora  carefully  omitted  that  episode  which 
Doctor  Keene  had  related  to  Frowenfeld, — her  own 
marriage  and  removal  to  Fausse  Riviere,  the  visit  of  her 
husband  to  the  city,  his  unfortunate  and  finally  fatal  af- 


AURORA    AS   A    HISTORIAN.  189 

fair  with  Agricola,  and  the  surrender  of  all  her  land 
and  slaves  to  that  successful  duellist. 

M.  de  Grapion,  through  all  that,  stood  by  his  engage 
ment  concerning  Palmyre  ;  and,  at  the  end  of  ten  years, 
to  his  own  astonishment,  responded  favorably  to  a  letter 
from  Honore's  sister,  irresistible  for  its  goodness,  good 
sense,  and  eloquent  pleading,  asking  leave  to  detain 
Palmyre  two  years  longer  ;  but  this  response  came  only 
after  the  old  master  and  his  pretty,  stricken  Aurora  had 
wept  over  it  until  they  were  weak  and  gentle, — and  was 
not  a  response  either,  but  only  a  silent  consent. 

Shortly  before  the  return  of  Honore — and  here  it  was 
that  Aurora  took  up  again  the  thread  of  her  account — 
while  his  mother,  long-widowed,  reigned  in  the  paternal 
mansion,  with  Agricola  for  her  manager,  Bras-Coupe 
appeared.  From  that  advent  and  the  long  and  varied 
mental  sufferings  which  its  consequences  brought  upon 
her,  sprang  that  second  change  in  Palmyre,  which 
made  her  finally  untamable,  and  ended  in  a  manumis 
sion,  granted  her  more  for  fear  than  for  conscience'  sake. 
When  Aurora  attempted  to  tell  those  experiences, 
even  leaving  Bras-Coupe  as  much  as  might  be  out  of  the 
recital,  she  choked  with  tears  at  the  very  start,  stopped, 
laughed,  and  said  : 

"  C'cst  tout — daz  all.  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  oo  you  fine 
dad  pigtu'  to  loog  lag,  yonnah,  hon  de  wall  ?  " 

She  spoke  as  if  he  might  have  overlooked  it,  though 
twenty  times,  at  least,  in  the  last  hour,  she  had  seen  him 
glance  at  it. 

"  It  is  a  good  likeness,"  said  the  apothecary,  turning 
to  Clotilde,  yet  showing  himself  somewhat  puzzled  in 
the  matter  of  the  costume. 

The  ladies  laughed. 


190  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  Daz  ma  grade-gran'- mamma,"  said  Clotilde. 

"  Dass  one  fille  &  la  cassette,"  said  Aurora,  "  my 
gran'-muzzah ;  mats,  ad  de  sem  tain  id  is  Clotilde." 
She  touched  her  daughter  under  the  chin  with  a  ringed 
finger.  "  Clotilde  is  my  gran'-mamma." 

Frowenfeld  rose  to  go. 

"  You  muz  come  again,  'Sieur  Frowenfel'/'  said  both 
ladies,  in  a  breath. 

What  could  he  say  j> 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A   RIDE   AND   A   RESCUE. 

"  DOUANE  or  Bienville  ?  " 

Such  was  the  choice  presented  by  Honore  Grandis- 
sime  to  Joseph  Frowenfeld,  as  the  former  on  a  lively 
brown  colt  and  the  apothecary  on  a  nervy  chestnut,  fell 
into  a  gentle,  preliminary  trot  while  yet  in  the  rue 
Royale,  looked  after  by  that  great  admirer  of  both,  Raoul 
Innerarity. 

"  Douane  ?  "  said  Frowenfeld.  (It  was  the  street  we 
call  Custom-House.) 

"  It  has  mud-holes,"  objected  Honore. 

"  Well,  then,  the  rue  du  Canal  ?  " 

"  The  canal — I  can  smell  it  frhom  heah.  Why  not 
rhue  Bienville  ?  " 

Frowenfeld  said  he  did  not  know.  (We  give  the 
statement  for  what  it  is  worth.) 

Notice  their  route.  A  spirit  of  perversity  seems  to 
have  entered  into  the  very  topography  of  this  quarter. 
They  turned  up  the  rue  Bienville  (up  is  toward  the 
river) ;  reaching  the  levee,  they  took  their  course  up  the 
shore  of  the  Mississippi  (almost  due  south),  and  broke 
into  a  lively  gallop  on  the  Tchoupitoulas  road,  which  in 
those  days  skirted  that  margin  of  the  river  nearest  the 
sunsetting,  namely,  the  eastern  bank. 

Conversation    moved    sluggishly  for  a  time,   halting 


I92  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

upon  trite  topics  or  swinging  easily  from  polite  inquiry 
to  mild  affirmation,  and  back  again.  They  were  men 
of  thought,  these  two,  and  one  of  them  did  not  fully 
understand  why  he  was  in  his  present  position  ;  hence 
some  reticence.  It  was  one  of  those  afternoons  in  early 
March  that  make  one  wonder  how  the  rest  of  the  world 
avoids  emigrating  to  Louisiana  in  a  body. 

"  Is  not  the  season  early  ?  "  asked  Frowenfeld. 

M.  Grandissime  believed  it  was  ;  but  then  the  Creole 
spring  always  seemed  so,  he  said. 

The  land  was  an  inverted  firmament  of  flowers.  The 
birds  were  an  innumerable,  busy,  joy-compelling  multi 
tude,  darting  and  fluttering  hither  and  thither,  as^  one 
might  imagine  the  babes  do  in  heaven.  The  orange- 
groves  were  in  blossom  ;  their  dark  green  boughs 
seemed  snowed  upon  from  a  cloud  of  incense,  and  a 
listening  ear  might  catch  an  incessant,  whispered  trickle 
of  falling  petals,  dropping  "as  the  honey-comb."  The 
magnolia  was  beginning  to  add  to  its  dark  and  shining 
evergreen  foliage,  frequent  sprays  of  pale  new  leaves 
and  long,  slender,  buff  buds  of  others  yet  to  come.  The 
oaks,  both  the  bare-armed  and  the  "  green-robed  sena 
tors,"  the  willows,  and  the  plaqueminiers,  were  putting 
out  their  subdued  florescence  as  if  they  smiled  in  grave 
participation  with  the  laughing  gardens.  The  homes 
that  gave  perfection  to  this  beauty  were  those 'old,  large, 
belvidered  colonial  villas,  of  which  you  may  still  here 
and  there  see  one  standing,  battered  into  half  ruin, 
high  and  broad,  among  founderies,  cotton  and  tobacco- 
sheds,  junk-yards,  and  longshoremen's  hovels,  like  one 
unconquered  elephant  in  a  wreck  of  artillery.  In  Frow- 
enfeld's  day  the  "  smell  of  their  garments  was  like 
Lebanon."  They  were  seen  by  glimpses  through 


A   RIDE  AND   A   RESCUE.  1 93 

chance  openings  in  lofty  hedges  of  Cherokee  rose  or 
bois-d'arc,  under  boughs  of  cedar  or  pride-of-China, 
above  their  groves  of  orange  or  down  their  long,  over 
arched  avenues  of  oleander  ;  and  the  lemon  and  the 
pomegranate,  the  banana,  the  fig,  the  shaddock,  and  at 
times  even  the  mango  and  the  guava,  joined  "hands 
around  "  and  tossed  their  fragrant  locks  above  the  lilies 
and  roses.  Frovvenfeld  forgot  to  ask  himself  further 
concerning  the  probable  intent  of  M.  Grandissime's  invi 
tation  to  ride  ;  these  beauties  seemed  rich  enough  in 
good  reasons.  He  felt  glad  and  grateful. 

At  a  certain  point  the  two  horses  turned  of  their  own 
impulse,  as  by  force  of  habit,  and  with  a  few  clamber 
ing  strides  mounted  to  the  top  of  the  levee  and  stood 
still,  facing  the  broad,  dancing,  hurrying,  brimming 
river. 

The  Creole  stole  an  amused  glance  at  the  elated,  self- 
forgetful  look  of  his  immigrant  friend. 

"  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,"  he  said,  as  the  delighted  apothe 
cary  turned  with  unwonted  suddenness  and  saw  his 
smile,  "  I  believe  you  like  this  bettah  than  discussion. 
You  find  it  easieh  to  be  in  hahmony  with  Louisiana  than 
with  Louisianians,  eh  ?  " 

Frovvenfeld  colored  with  surprise.  Something  un 
pleasant  had  lately  occurred  in  his  shop.  Was  this  to 
signify  that  M.  Grandissime  had  heard  of  it? 

"  I  am  a  Louisianian,"  replied  he,  as  if  this  were  a 
point  assailed. 

"  I  would  not  insinuate  othehwise,"  said  M.  Grandis 
sime,  with  a  kindly  gesture.  "  I  would  like  you  to  feel 
so.  We  ah  citizens  now  of  a  differhent  gove'ment  to 
that  undeh  which  we  lived  the  mawning  we  first  met. 
Yet" — the  Creole  paused  and  smiled — "you  ah  not, 
9 


194  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

and  I  am  glad  you  ah  not,  what  we  call  a  Louisi- 
anian." 

Frowenfeld's  color  increased.  He  turned  quickly  in 
his  saddle  as  if  to  say  something  very  positive,  but  hesi 
tated,  restrained  himself  and  asked  : 

"  Mr.  Grandissime,  is  not  your  Creole  'we'  a  word 
that  does  much  damage  ?  " 

The  Creole's  response  was  at  first  only  a  smile,  fol 
lowed  by  a  thoughtful  countenance  ;  but  he  presently 
said,  with  some  suddenness  : 

"  My-de'-seh,  yes.  Yet  you  see  I  am,  even  this  mo 
ment,  fo'getting  we  ah  not  a  separhate  people.  Yes, 
ow  Crheole  'we'  does  damage,  and  o\v  Crheole  'you  ' 
does  mo'.  I  assu'  you,  seh,  I  trhyhahd  to  get  my  peo 
ple  to  unde'stand  that  it  is  time  to  stop  calling  those 
who  come  and  add  themselves  to  the  community,  aliens, 
intehlopehs,  invadehs.  That  is  what  I  heah  my  cousins, 
'Polyte  and  Sylvestre,  in  the  heat  of  discussion,  called 
you  the  otheh  evening  ;  is  it  so  ?  " 

"  I  brought  it  upon  myself,"  said  Frowcnfeld.  "  I 
brought  it  upon  myself." 

"  My-de'-seh,"  interrupted  M.  Grandissime,  with  a 
broad  smile,  "  excuse  me — I  am  fully  prhepa'ed  to  be 
lieve  it.  But  the  chahge  is  a  false  one.  I  told  them  so. 
My-de'-seh — I  know  that  a  citizen  of  the  United  States 
in  the  United  States  has  a  rhight  to  become,  and  to  be 
called,  undeh  the  laws  gove'ning  the  case,  a  Louisian- 
ian,  a  Vehmonter-h  or  a  Vi'ginian,  as  it  may  suit  his 
whim  ;  and  even  if  he  should  be  found  dishonest  a\v 
dangerhous,  he  has  a  rhight  to  be  trheated  jus'  ezactly 
as  we  trheat  the  knaves  and  rhuffians  who  ah  native 
bawn  !  Everhy  discrheet  man  must  admit  that." 

"  But  if  they  do  not  enforce  it,  Mr.   Grandissime," 


A   RIDE  AND   A   RESCUE.  1 95 

quickly  responded  the  sore  apothecary,  "if  they  conti 
nually  forget  it — if  one  must  surrender  himself  to  the 
errors  and  crimes  of  the  community  as  he  finds  it — 

The  Creole  uttered  a  low  laugh. 

"  Pahty  differhences,  Mr.  Frhowenfeld ;  they  have 
them  in  all  countrhies." 

"  So  your  cousins  said,"  said  Frowenfeld. 

"  And  how  did  you  answeh  them  ?  " 

"  Offensively,"  said  the  apothecary,  with  sincere  mor 
tification. 

"  Oh!  that  was  easy,"  replied  the  other,  amusedly; 
"but  how?  " 

"  I  said  that,  having  here  only  such  party  differences 
as  are  common  elsewhere,  we  do  not  behave  as  they 
elsewhere  do  ;  that  in  most  civilized  countries  the  immi 
grant  is  welcome,  but  here  he  is  not.  I  am  afraid  I  have 
not  learned  the  art  of  courteous  debate,"  said  Frowen 
feld,  with  a  smile  of  apology. 

"  Tis  a  grheat  aht,"  said  the  Creole,  quietly,  stroking 
his  horse's  neck.  "  I  suppose  my  cousins  denied  yo' 
statement  with  indignation,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  they  said  the  honest  immigrant  is  always  wel 
come." 

"  Well,  do  you  not  find  that  trhue  ?  " 

"  But,  Mr.  Grandissime,  that  is  requiring  the  immi 
grant  to  prove  his  innocence  !  "  Frowenfeld  spoke  from 
the  heart.  "  And  even  the  honest  immigrant  is  welcome 
only  when  he  leaves  his  peculiar  opinions  behind  him. 
Is  that  right,  sir  ?  " 

The  Creole  smiled  at  Frowenfeld's  heat. 

"  My-de'-seh,  my  cousins  complain  that  you  ad 
vocate  measu'es  fatal  to  the  prhevailing  order-h  of  so 
ciety." 


THE    GRANDISS1MES. 

"  But,"  replied  the  unyielding  Frowenfeld,  turning  red 
der  than  ever,  "  that  is  the  very  thing  that  American 
liberty  gives  me  the  right — peaceably  — to  do  !  Here  is 
a  structure  of  society  defective,  dangerous,  erected  on 
views  of  human  relations  which  the  world  is  abandoning 
as  false ;  yet  the  immigrant's  welcome  is  modified  with 
the  warning  not  to  touch  these  false  foundations  with  one 
of  his  fingers  !  " 

"  Did  you  tell  my  cousins  the  foundations  of  society 
here-h  ah  false  ?  " 

"  I  regret  to  say  I  did,  very  abruptly.  I  told  them 
they  were  privately  aware  of  the  fact." 

"  You  may  say,"  said  the  ever-amiable  Creole,  "  that 
you  allowed  debate  to  rhun  into  contrhovehcy,  eh  ?  " 

Frowenfeld  was  silent ;  he  compared  the  gentleness 
of  this  Creole's  rebukes  with  the  asperity  of  his  advocacy 
of  right  and  felt  humiliated.  But  M.  Grandissime  spoke 
with  a  rallying  smile. 

"  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,  you  nevva  make  pills  with  eight 
cawnehs,  eh  ?  " 

"  No,  sir."     The  apothecary  smiled. 

"  No,  you  make  them  rhound  ;  cannot  you  make  yo' 
doctrhines  the  same  way  ?  My-de'-seh,  you  will  think 
me  impertinent ;  but  the  rheason  I  speak  is  because  I 
wish  verhy  much  that  you  and  my  cousins  would  not  be 
offended  with  each  otheh.  To  tell  you  the  trhuth,  my- 
de'-seh,  I  hoped  to  use  you  with  them — pahdon  my 
frhankness." 

"  If  Louisiana  had  more  men  like  you,  M.  Grandis 
sime,"  cried  the  untrained  Frowenfeld,  "  society  would 
be  less  sore  to  the  touch." 

"  My-de'-seh,"  said  the  Creole,  laying  his  hand  out 
toward  his  companion  and  turning  his  horse  in  such  a 


A   RIDE  AND  A   RESCUE.  197 

way  as  to  turn  the  other  also,  "  do  me  one  favah  ;  rhe- 
membeh  that  it  is  so'  to  the  touch." 

The  animals  picked  their  steps  down  the  inner  face 
of  the  levee  and  resumed  their  course  up  the  road  at  a 
walk. 

"  Did  you  see  that  man  just  turn  the  bend  of  the 
rhoad,  away  yondah  ?  "  the  Creole  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  you  rheco'nize  him." 

"  It  was — my  landlord,  wasn't  it?" 

"  Yes.  Did  he  not  have  a  convessation  with  you 
lately,  too  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  It  has  had  a  bad  effect  on  him.  I  wondeh  why  he 
is  out  here-h  on  foot  ?  " 

The  horses  quickened  their  paces.  The  two  friends 
rode  along  in  silence.  Frowenfeld  noticed  his  compa 
nion  frequently  cast  an  eye  up  along  the  distant  sunset 
shadows  of  the  road  with  a  new  anxiety.  Yet,  when  M. 
Grandissime  broke  the  silence  it  was  only  to  say  : 

"  I  suppose  you  find  the  blemishes  in  ow  state  of  soci 
ety  can  all  be  attributed  to  one  main  defect,  Mr.  Frho- 
wenfeld  ?  " 

Frowenfeld  was  glad  of  the  chance  to  answer : 

"  I  have  not  overlooked  that  this  society  has  disad 
vantages  as  well  as  blemishes  ;  it  is  distant  from  enlight 
ened  centres  ;  it  has  a  language  and  religion  different 
from  that  of  the  great  people  of  which  it  is  now  called 
to  be  a  part.  That  it  has  also  positive  blemishes  of  or 
ganism — 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  the  Creole,  smiling  at  the  immi 
grant's  sudden  magnanimity,  "its  positive  blemishes; 
do  they  all  spring  from  one  main  defect  ?  " 


19  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  I  think  not.  The  climate  has  its  influence,  the  soil 
has  its  influence — dwellers  in  swamps  cannot  be  moun 
taineers." 

"  But  after-h  all,"  persisted  the  Creole,  "  the  grheateh 
paht  of  ow  trhoubles  comes  frhom — 

"  Slavery,"  said  Frowenfeld,  "  or  rather  caste." 

"  Exactly,"  said  M.  Grandissime. 

"  You  surprise  me,  sir,"  said  the  simple  apothecary. 
"  I  supposed  you  were " 

"  My-de'-seh,"  exclaimed  M.  Grandissime,  suddenly 
becoming  very  earnest,  "  I  am  nothing,  nothing ! 
There-h  is  wheh  you  have  the  advantage  of  me.  I  am 
but  a  dilettante,  whether-h  in  politics,  in  philosophy, 
morhals,  aw  rheligion.  I  am  afraid  to  go  deeply  into 
anything,  lest  it  should  make  rhuin  in  my  name,  my  fam 
ily,  my  prhope'ty." 

He  laughed  unpleasantly. 

The  question  darted  into  Frowenfeld's  mind,  whether 
this  might  not  be  a  hint  of  the  matter  that  M.  Grandis 
sime  had  been  trying  to  see  him  about. 

"  Mr.  Grandissime,"  he  said,  "  1  can  hardly  believe 
you  would  neglect  a  duty  either  for  family,  property,  or 
society. 

"  Well,  you  mistake,"  said  the  Creole,  so  coldly  that 
Frowenfeld  colored. 

They  galloped  on.  M.  Grandissime  brightened  again, 
almost  to  the  degree  of  vivacity.  By  and  by  they  slack 
ened  to  a  slow  trot  and  were  silent.  The  gardens  had 
been  long  left  behind,  and  they  were  passing  between 
continuous  Cherokee  rose-hedges  on  the  right,  and  on 
the  left  along  that  bend  of  the  Mississippi  where  its 
waters,  glancing  off  three  miles  above  from  the  old  De 

*    o  o 

Macarty  levee  (now  Carrollton),  at  the  slightest  opposi- 


A   RIDE  AND  A   RESCUE.  199 

tion  in  the  breeze  go  whirling  and  leaping  like  a  herd  of 
dervishes  across  to  the  ever-crumbling  shore,  now  marked 
by  the  little  yellow  depot-house  of  Westwego.  Miles 
up  the  broad  flood  the  sun  was  disappearing  gorgeously. 
From  their  saddles,  the  two  horsemen  feasted  on  the 
scene  without  comment. 

But  presently,  M.  Grandissime  uttered  a  low  ejacula 
tion  and  spurred  his  horse  toward  a  tree  hard  by,  pre 
paring,  as  he  went,  to  fasten  his  rein  to  an  overhanging 
branch.  Frowenfeld,  agreeable  to  his  beckon,  imitated 
the  movement. 

"  I  feah  he  intends  to  drhown  himself,"  whispered  M. 
Grandissime,  as  they  hurriedly  dismounted. 

"Who?     Not " 

"  Yes,  yo'  lan'lawd,  as  you  call  him.  He  is  on  the 
flat ;  I  saw  his  hat  over  the  levee.  When  we  get  on  top 
the  levee,  we  must  get  right  into  it.  But  do  not  follow 
him  into  the  wateh  in  frhont  of  the  flat ;  it  is  certain 
death  ;  no  power-h  of  man  could  keep  you  frhom  going 
under-h  it." 

The  words  were  quickly  spoken  ;  they  scrambled  to 
the  levee's  crown.  Just  abreast  of  them  lay  a  "  flat- 
boat,"  emptied  of  its  cargo  and  moored  to  the  levee. 
They  leaped  into  it.  A  human  figure  swerved  from 
the  onset  of  the  Creole  and  ran  toward  the  bow  of  the 
boat,  and  in  an  instant  more  would  have  been  in  the 
river. 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Frowenfeld,  seizing  the  unresisting  f. 
m.  c.  firmly  by  the  collar. 

Honore  Grandissime  smiled,  partly  at  the  apothecary's 
brief  speech,  but  much  more  at  his  success. 

"  Let  him  go,  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,"  he  said,  as  he  came 
near. 


2OO  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

The  silent  man  turned  away  his  face  with  a  gesture  cf 
shame. 

M.  Grandissime,  in  a  gentle  voice,  exchanged  a  few 
words  with  him,  and  he  turned  and  walked  away,  gained 
the  shore,  descended  the  levee,  and  took  a  foot-path 
which  soon  hid  him  behind  a  hedge. 

"  He  gives  his  pledge  not  to  trhy  again,"  said  the 
Creole,  as  the  two  companions  proceeded  to  resume  the 
saddle.  "  Do  not  look  afteh  him."  (Joseph  had  cast  a 
searching  look  over  the  hedge.) 

They  turned  homeward. 

"  Ah  !  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,"  said  the  Creole,  suddenly, 
"  if  the  immygrhant  has  cause  of  complaint,  how  much 
mo'  has  tliat  man  !  Trhue,  it  is  only  love  fo'  which  he 
would  have  jus'  now  drhovvned  himself;  yet  what  an  ac 
cusation,  my-de'-seh,  is  his  whole  life  against  that  '  caste  ' 
which  shuts  him  up  within  its  narrhow  and  almost  soli 
tary  limits !  And  yet,  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,  this  people 
esteem  this  very  same  crhime  of  caste  the  holiest  and 
most  prhecious  of  their  virtues.  My-de'-seh,  it  never-h 
occu's  to  us  that  in  this  matteh  we  are  interhested, 
and  theffo'  disqualified,  witnesses.  We  say  we  ah  not 
unde'stood  ;  that  the  jurhy  (the  civilized  world)  rhen- 
dehs  its  decision  without  viewing  the  body  ;  that  we 
are  judged  frhom  a  distance.  We  fo'get  that  we  ow- 
selves  ah  too  close  to  see  distinctly,  and  so  continue, 
a  spectacle  to  civilization,  sitting  in  a  horrhible  dahkness, 
my-de'-seh  !  "  He  frowned. 

"  The  shadow  of  the  Ethiopian,"  said  the  grave 
apothecary. 

M.  Grandissime's  quick  gesture  implied  that  Frowen- 
feld  had  said  the  very  word. 

"Ah!  my-de'-seh,   when   I    trhy  sometime'  to    stan' 


A   RIDE  AND  A   RESCUE.  2OI 

outside  an'  look  at  it,  I  am  ama-aze  at  the  length,  the 
blackness  of  that  shadow  !  "  (He  was  so  deep  in  ear 
nest  that  he  took  no  care  of  his  English.)  "  It  is  the 
Nemesis  w'ich,  instead  of  coming  afteh,  glides  along  by 
the  side  of  this  morhal,  political,  commershial,  social 
mistake  !  It  blanches,  my-de'-seh,  ow  whole  civiliza 
tion  !  It  drhags  us  a  centurhy  behind  the  rhes'  of  the 
world  !  It  rhetahds  and  poisons  everhy  industrhy  we 
got ! — mos'  of  all  our-h  immense  agrhicultu'e  !  It  brheeds 
a  thousan'  cusses  that  nevva  leave  home  but  jus'  flutter-h 
up  an'  rhoost,  my-de'-seh,  on  ow  heads,;  an'  we  nevva 
know  it  ! — yes,  sometimes  some  of  us  know  it." 

He  changed  the  subject. 

They  had  repassed  the  ruins  of  Fort  St.  Louis,  and 
were  well  within  the  precincts  of  the  little  city,  when,  as 
they  pulled  up  from  a  final  gallop,  mention  was  made  of 
Doctor  Keene.  He  was  improving  ;  Honore  had  seen 
him  that  morning  ;  so,  at  another  hour,  had  Frowenfeld. 
Doctor  Keene  had  told  Honore  about  Palmyre's  wound. 

"  You  was  at  heh  house  again  this  mawning  ?  "  asked 
the  Creole. 

"  Yes,"  said  Frowenfeld. 

M.  Grandissime  shook  his  head  warningly. 

"  'Tis  a  dangerhous  business.  You  are-h  almost  su'e 
to  become  the  object  of  slandeh.  You  ought  to  tell 
Docteh  Keene  to  make  some  other-h  arrhangement,  aw 
prhesently  you,  too,  will  be  undeh  the—  "  he  lowered  his 
voice,  for  Frowenfeld  was  dismounting  at  the  shop  door, 
and  three  or  four  acquaintances  stood  around — "  undeh 
the  '  shadow  of  the  Ethiopian.' ': 

9* 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

THE   FETE   DE   GRANDPERE. 

SojOURNERS  in  New  Orleans  who  take  their  after 
noon  drive  down  Esplanade  street  will  notice,  across  on 
the  right,  between  it  and  that  sorry  streak  once  fondly 
known  as  Champs  Elysees,  two  or  three  large,  old 
houses,  rising  above  the  general  surroundings  and  dis 
playing  architectural  features  which  identify  them  with 
an  irrevocable  past — a  past  when  the  faithful  and  true 
Creole  could,  without  fear  of  contradiction,  express  his 
religious  belief  that  the  antipathy  he  felt  for  the  Ameri- 
cain  invader  was  an  inborn  horror  laid  lengthwise  in  his 
ante-natal  bones  by  a  discriminating  and  appreciative 
Providence.  There  is,  for  instance,  or  was  until  lately, 
one  house  which  some  hundred  and  fifteen  years  ago 
was  the  suburban  residence  of  the  old  sea-captain  gover 
nor,  Kerlerec.  It  stands  up  among  the  oranges  as  silent 
and  gray  as  a  pelican,  and,  so  far  as  we  know,  has  never 
had  one  cypress  plank  added  or  subtracted  since  its 
master  was  called  to  France  and  thrown  into  the  Bastile. 
Another  has  two  dormer  windows  looking  out  westward, 
and,  when  the  setting  sun  strikes  the  panes,  reminds  one 
of  a  man  with  spectacles  standing  up  in  an  audience, 
searching  for  a  friend  who  is  not  there  and  will  never 
come  back.  These  houses  are  the  last  remaining — if, 
indeed,  they  were  not  pulled  down  yesterday — of  a 


THE    FETE    DE    GRANDPERE. 

group  that  once  marked  from  afar  the  direction  of  the 
old  highway  between  the  city's  walls  and  the  suburb  St. 
Jean.  Here  clustered  the  earlier  aristocracy  of  the  col 
ony  ;  all  that  pretty  crew  of  counts,  chevaliers,  mar 
quises,  colonels,  dons,  etc.,  who  loved  their  kings,  and 
especially  their  kings'  moneys,  with  an  abandon  which 
affected  the  accuracy  of  nearly  all  their  accounts. 

Among  these  stood  the  great  mother-mansion  of  the 
Grandissimes.  Do  not  look  for  it  now  ;  it  is  quite  gone. 
The  round,  white-plastered  brick  pillars  which  held  the 
house  fifteen  feet  up  from  the  reeking  ground  and  rose 
on  loftily  to  sustain  the  great  overspreading  roof,  or 
clustered  in  the  cool,  paved  basement  ;  the  lofty  halls, 
with  their  multitudinous  glitter  of  gilded  brass  and 
twinkle  of  sweet-smelling  wax-candles  ;  the  immense 
encircling  veranda,  where  twenty  Creole  girls  might 
walk  abreast ;  the  great  front  stairs,  descending  from  the 
veranda  to  the  garden,  with  a  lofty  palm  on  either  side, 
on  whose  broad  steps  forty  Grandissimes  could  gather 
on  a  birthday  afternoon  ;  and  the  belvidere,  whence 
you  could  see  the  cathedral,  the  Ursulines',  the  gover 
nor's  mansion,  and  the  river,  far  away,  shining  between 
the  villas  of  Tchoupitoulas  Coast — all  have  disappeared 
as  entirely  beyond  recall  as  the  flowers  that  bloomed 
in  the  gardens  on  the  day  of  i\\\s  fete  de  grandpere, 

Odd  to  say,  it  was  not  the  grandpere's  birthday  that 
had  passed.  For  weeks  the  happy  children  of  the  many 
Grandissime  branches — the  Mandarins,  the  St.  Blan- 
cards,  the  Brahmins — had  been  standing  with  their  up 
lifted  arms  apart,  awaiting  the  signal  to  clap  hands  and 
jump,  and  still,  from  week  to  week,  the  appointed  day 
had  been  made  to  fall  back,  and  fall  back  before — what 
think  you  ? — an  inability  to  understand  Honor£. 


2O4  THE    GRANDISSTMES. 

It  was  a  sad  paradox  in  the  history  of  this  majestic 
old  house  that  her  best  child  gave  her  the  most  annoy 
ance  ;  but  it  had  long  been  so.  Even  in  Honore's  early 
youth,  a  scant  two  years  after  she  had  watched  him  over 
the  tops  of  her  green  myrtles  and  white  and  crimson 
oleanders,  go  away,  a  lad  of  fifteen,  supposing  he  would 
of  course  come  back  a  Grandissimc  of  the  Grandissimes 
— an  inflexible  of  the  inflexibles,  he  was  found  "  incit 
ing  "  (so  the  stately  dames  and  officials  who  graced  her 
front  veranda  called  it)  a  Grandissime-De  Grapion  re 
conciliation  by  means  of  transatlantic  letters,  and  redu 
cing  the  flames  of  the  old  feud,  rekindled  by  the  Fusilier- 
Nancanou  duel,  to  a  little  foul  smoke.  The  main  diffi 
culty  seemed  to  be  that  Honore  could  not  be  satisfied 
with  a  clean  conscience  as  to  his  own  deeds  and  the 
peace  and  fellowships  of  single  households  ;  his  longing 
was,  and  had  ever  been— he  had  inherited  it  from  his 
father — to  see  one  unbroken  and  harmonious  Gran- 
dissime  family  gathering  yearly  under  this  venerated 
roof  without  reproach  before  all  persons,  classes,  and 
races  with  whom  they  had  ever  had  to  do.  It  was  not 
hard  for  the  old  mansion  to  forgive  him  once  or  twice  ; 
but  she  had  had  to  do  it  often.  It  seems  no  overstretch 
of  fancy  to  say  she  sometimes  gazed  down  upon  his  err 
ing  ways  with  a  look  of  patient  sadness  in  her  large  and 
beautiful  windows. 

And  how  had  that  forbearance  been  rewarded  ?  Take 
one  short  instance  :  when,  seven  years  before  this  pres 
ent  fete  de  grandpcre,  he  came  back  from  Europe,  and 
she  (this  old  home  which  we  cannot  help  but  personify), 
though  in  trouble  then — a  trouble  that  sent  up  the  old 
feud  flames  again — opened  her  halls  to  rejoice  in  him 
with  the  joy  of  all  her  gathered  families,  he  presently 


THE   FETE   DE    GRANDPERE.  2O$ 

said  such  strange  things  in  favor  of  indiscriminate 
human  freedom  that  for  very  shame's  sake  she  hushed 
them  up,  in  the  fond  hope  that  he  would  outgrow  such 
heresies.  But  he  ?  On  top  of  all  the  rest,  he  declined 
a  military  commission  and  engaged  in  commerce — • 
"  shop-keeping,  parbleu  !  " 

However,  therein  was  developed  a  grain  of  consola 
tion.  Honore  became — as  he  chose  to  call  it — more 
prudent.  With  much  tact,  Agricola  was  amiably 
crowded  off  the  dictator's  chair,  to  become,  instead,  a 
sort  of  seneschal.  For  a  time  the  family  peace  was  per 
fect,  and  Honore,  by  a  touch  here  to-day  and  a  word 
there  to-morrow,  was  ever  lifting  the  name,  and  all  who 
bore  it,  a  little  and  a  little  higher  ;  when  suddenly,  as 
in  his  father's  day — that  dear  Numa  who  knew  how  to 
sacrifice  his  very  soul,  as  a  sort  of  Iphigenia  for  the  pro 
pitiation  of  the  family  gods — as  in  Numa's  day  came  the 
cession  to  Spain,  so  now  fell  this  other  cession,  like  an 
unexpected  tornado,  threatening  the  wreck  of  her  chil 
dren's  slave-schooners  and  the  prostration  alike  of  their 
slave-made  crops  and  their  Spanish  liberties  ;  and  just  in 
the  fateful  moment  where  Numa  would  have  stood  by 
her,  Honore  had  let  go.  Ah,  it  was  bitter  ! 

"  See  what  foreign  education  does  !  "  cried  a  Man 
darin  de  Grandissime  of  the  Baton  Rouge  Coast.  "  I 
am  sorry  now" — derisively — "  that  I  never  sent  my 
boy  to  France,  am  I  not  ?  No  !  No-o-o  !  I  would  rather 
my  son  should  never  know  how  to  read,  than  that  he 
should  come  back  from  Paris  repudiating  the  sentiments 
and  prejudices  of  his  own  father.  Is  education  better 
than  family  peace?  Ah,  bah!  My  son  make  friends 
with  Americains  and  tell  me  they — that  call  a  negro 
'  monsieur  ' — are  as  good  as  his  father  ?  But  that  is 


2O6  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

what  we  get  for  letting  Honore"  become  a  merchant. 
Ha  !  the  degradation  !  Shaking  hands  with  men  who 
do  not  believe  in  the  slave  trade  !  Shake  hands  ?  Yes  ; 
associate — fraternize  !  with  apothecaries  and  negro- 
philes.  And  now  we  are  invited  to  meet  at  the  fete  dc 
grandpcre,  in  the  house  where  he  is  really  the  chief — 
the  cacique  !  " 

No  !  The  family  would  not  come  together  on  the  first 
appointment;  no,  nor  on  the  second;  no,  not  if  the 
grandpapa  did  express  his  wish  ;  no,  nor  on  the  third — 
nor  on  the  fourth. 

"  Non,  Messieurs!  "  cried  both  youth  and  reckless 
age  ;  and,  sometimes,  also,  the  stronger  heads  of  the 
family,  the  men  of  means,  of  force  and  of  influence, 
urged  on  from  behind  by  their  proud  and  beautiful  wives 
and  daughters. 

Arms,  generally,  rather  than  heads,  ruled  there  in 
those  days,  and  sentiments  (which  are  the  real  laws)  took 
shape  in  accordance  with  the  poetry,  rather  than  the 
reason,  of  things,  and  the  community  recognized  the 
supreme  domination  of  the  "  gentleman  "  in  questions 
of  right  and  of  "the  ladies"  in  matters  of  sentiment. 
Under  such  conditions  strength  establishes  over  weak 
ness  a  showy  protection  which  is  the  subtlest  of  tyrannies, 
yet  which,  in  the  very  moment  of  extending  its  arm  over 
woman,  confers  upon  her  a  power  which  a  truer  freedom 
would  only  diminish  ;  constitutes  her  in  a  large  degree 
an  autocrat  of  public  sentiment  and  thus  accepts  her 
narrowest  prejudices  and  most  belated  errors  as  a  very 
need-be's  of  social  life. 

The  clans  classified  easily  into  three  groups :  there 
were  those  who  boiled,  those  who  stewed,  and  those  who 
merely  steamed  under  a  close  cover.  The  men  in  the 


THE  FETE   DE    GRANDPERE.  2O/ 

first  two  groups  were,  for  the  most  part,  those  who  were 
holding  office  under  old  Spanish  commissions,  and  were 
daily  expecting  themselves  to  be  displaced  and  Louisiana 
thereby  ruined.  The  steaming  ones  were  a  goodly  frac 
tion  of  the  family — the  timid,  the  apathetic,  the  "  con 
servative."  The  conservatives  found  ease  better  than 
exactitude,  the  trouble  of  thinking  great,  the  agony  of  de 
ciding  harrowing,  and  the  alternative  of  smiling  cynically 
and  being  liberal  so  much  easier — and  the  warm  weather 
coming  on  with  a  rapidity  wearying  to  contemplate. 

"  The  Yankee  was  an  inferior  animal." 

"  Certainly." 

"  But  Honore  had  a  right  to  his  convictions." 

"  Yes,  that  was  so,  too." 

"  It  looked  very  traitorous,  however." 

"Yes,  so  it  did." 

"Nevertheless,  it  might  turn  out  that  Honore"  was 
advancing  the  true  interests  of  his  people." 

"  Very  likely." 

"  It  would  not  do  to  accept  office  under  the  Yankee 
government." 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  Yet  it  would  never  do  to  let  the  Yankees  get  the 
offices,  either." 

"  That  was  true  ;  nobody  could  deny  that." 

"  If  Spain  or  France  got  the  country  back,  they  would 
certainly  remember  and  reward  those  who  had  held  out 
faithfully." 

"  Certainly  !  That  was  an  old  habit  with  France  and 
Spain." 

"  But  if  they  did  not  get  the  country  back— 

"  Yes,  that  is  so  ;  Honore  is  a  very  good  fellow, 
and " 


2C>8  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

And,  one  after  another,  under  the  mild  coolness  of  Ho 
nore's  amiable  disregard,  their  indignation  trickled  back 
from  steam  to  water,  and  they  went  on  drawing  their  sti 
pends,  some  in  Honore's  counting  room,  where  they  held 
positions,  some  from  the  provisional  government,  which 
had  as  yet  made  but  few  changes,  and  some,  secretly,  from 
the  cunning  Casa-Calvo  ;  for,  blow  the  wind  east  or 
blow  the  wind  west,  the  affinity  of  the  average  Grandis- 
sime  for  a  salary  abideth  forever. 

Then,  at  the  right  moment,  Honore  made  a  single 
happy  stroke,  and  even  the  hot  Grandissimes,  they  of 
the  interior  parishes  and  they  of  Agricola's  squadron, 
slaked  and  crumbled  when  he  wrote  each  a  letter  saying 
that  the  governor  was  about  to  send  them  appointments, 
and  that  it  would  be  well,  if  they  wished  to  evade  them, 
to  write  the  governor  at  once,  surrendering  their  present 
commissions.  Well  !  Evade  ?  They  would  evade 
nothing!  Do  you  think  they  would  so  belittle  them 
selves  as  to  write  to  the  usurper  ?  They  would  submit 
to  keep  the  positions  first. 

But  the  next  move  was  Honore's  making  the  whole 
town  aware  of  his  apostasy.  The  great  mansion,  with 
the  old  grandpcre  sitting  out  in  front,  shivered.  As  we 
have  seen,  he  had  ridden  through  the  Place  d'Armes  with 
the  arch-usurper  himself.  Yet,  after  all,  a  Grandissime 
would  be  a  Grandissime  still  ;  whatever  he  did  he  did 
openly.  And  wasn't  that  glorious — never  to  be  ashamed 
of  anything,  no  matter  how  bad  ?  It  was  not  every  one 
who  could  ride  with  the  governor. 

And  blood  was  so  much  thicker  than  vinegar  that  the 

o 

family  that  would  not  meet  either  in  January  or  Febru 
ary,  met  in  the  first  week  of  March,  every  constituent 
one  of  them. 


THE  FETE  DE    GRANDP&RE. 

The  feast  has  been  eaten.  The  garden  now  is  joyous 
with  children  and  the  veranda  resplendent  with  ladies. 
From  among  the  latter  the  eye  quickly  selects  one.  She 
is  perceptibly  taller  than  the  others ;  she  sits  in  their 
midst  near  the  great  hall  entrance  ;  and  as  you  look  at 
her  there  is  no  claim  of  ancestry  the  Grandissimes  can 
make  which  you  would  not  allow.  Her  hair,  once  black, 
now  lifted  up  into  a  glistening  snow-drift,  augments  the 
majesty  of  a  still  beautiful  face,  while  her  full  stature  and 
stately  bearing  suggest  the  finer  parts  of  Agricola,  her 
brother.  It  is  Madame  Grandissime,  the  mother  of 
Honore. 

One  who  sits  at  her  left,  and  is  very  small,  is  a  favorite 
cousin.  On  her  right  is  her  daughter,  the  widowed 

o  o 

senora  of  Jose  Martinez  ;  she  has  wonderful  black  hair 
and  a  white  brow  as  wonderful.  The  commanding  car 
riage  of  the  mother  is  tempered  in  her  to  a  gentle  dignity 
and  calm,  contrasting  pointedly  with  the  animated 
manners  of  the  courtly  matrons  among  whom  she  sits, 
and  whose  continuous  conversation  takes  this  direction 
or  that,  at  the  pleasure  of  Madame  Grandissime. 

But  if  you  can  command  your  powers  of  attention, 
despite  those  children  who  are  shouting  Creole  French 
and  sliding  down  the  rails  of  the  front  stair,  turn  the  eye 
to  the  laughing  squadron  of  beautiful  girls,  which  every 
few  minutes,  at  an  end  of  the  veranda,  appears,  wheels 
and  dissappears,  and  you  note,  as  it  were  by  flashes,  the 
characteristics  of  face  and  figure  that  mark  the  Louis- 
ianaises  in  the  perfection  of  the  new-blown  flower. 
You  see  that  blondes  are  not  impossible  ;  there,  indeed, 
are  two  sisters  who  might  be  undistinguishable  twins 
but  that  one  has  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair.  You  note 
the  exquisite  pencilling  of  their  eyebrows,  here  and  there 


210  THE   GRANDISSIMES. 

some  heavier  and  more  velvety,  where  a  less  vivacious 
expression  betrays  a  share  of  Spanish  blood.  As  Gran- 
dissimes,  you  mark  their  tendency  to  exceed  the  medium 
Creole  stature,  an  appearance  heightened  by  the  fashion 
of  their  robes.  There  is  scarcely  a  rose  in  all  their 
cheeks  and  a  full  red-ripeness  of  the  lips  would  hardly 
be  in  keeping  ;  but  there  is  plenty  of  life  in  their  eyes, 
which  glance  out  between  the  curtains  of  their  long 
lashes  with  a  merry  dancing  that  keeps  time  to  the  prattle 
of  tongues.  You  are  not  able  to  get  a  straight  look 
into  them,  and  if  you  could  you  would  see  only  your 
own  image  cast  back  in  pitiful  miniature  ;  but  you  turn 
away  and  feel,  as  you  fortify  yourself  with  an  inward, 
smile,  that  they  know  you,  you  man,  through  and 
through,  like  a  little  song.  And  in  turning,  your  sight 
is  glad  to  rest  again  on  the  face  of  Honore's  mother. 
You  see,  this  time,  that  she  is  his  mother,  by  a  charm 
you  had  overlooked,  a  candid,  serene  and  lovable  smile. 
It  is  the  wonder  of  those  who  see  that  smile  that  she 
can  ever  be  harsh. 

The  playful,  mock-martial  tread  of  the  delicate 
Creole  feet  is  all  at  once  swallowed  up  by  the  sound  of 
many  heavier  steps  in  the  hall,  and  the  fathers,  grand 
fathers,  sons,  brothers,  uncles  and  nephews  of  the  great 
family  come  out,  not  a  man  of  them  that  cannot,  with  a 
little  care,  keep  on  his  feet.  Their  descendants  of  the 
present  day  sip  from  shallower  glasses  and  with  less 
marked  results. 

The  matrons,  rising,  offer  the  chief  seat  to  the  first 
comer,  the  great-grandsire — the  oldest  living  Grandis- 
sime — Alcibiadc,  a  shaken  but  unfallcn  monument  of 
early  colonial  days,  a  browned  and  corrugated  souvenir 
of  De  Vaudrcuil's  pomps,  of  O'Reilly's  iron  rule,  of 


THE  FETE  DE    GRANDP&RE.  211 

Galvez'  brilliant  wars — a  man  who  had  seen  Bienville  and 
Zephyr  Grandissime.  With  what  splendor  of  manner 
Madame  Fusilier  de  Grandissime  offers,  and  he  accepts, 
the  place  of  honor  !  Before  he  sits  down  he  pauses  a 
moment  to  hear  out  the  companion  on  whose  arm  he 
had  been  leaning.  But  Theophile,  a  dark,  graceful 
youth  of  eighteen,  though  he  is  recounting  something 
with  all  the  oblivious  ardor  of  his  kind,  becomes  instantly 
silent,  bows  with  grave  deference  to  the  ladies,  hands 
the  aged  forefather  gracefully  to  his  seat,  and  turning, 
recommences  the  recital  to  one  who  listens  with  the  same 
perfect  courtesy  to  all — his  beloved  cousin  Honorc. 

Meanwhile,  the  gentlemen  throng  out.  Gallant  crew  ! 
These  are  they  who  have  been  pausing  proudly  week 
after  week  in  an  endeavor  (?)  to  understand  the  opaque 
motives  of  Numa's  son. 

In  the  middle  of  the  veranda  pauses  a  tall,  muscular 
man  of  fifty,  "with  the  usual  smooth  face  and  an  iron-gray 
queue.  That  is  Colonel  Agamemnon  Brahmin  de  Gran 
dissime,  purveyor  to  the  family's  military  pride,  con 
servator  of  its  military  glory,  and,  after  Honorc,  the 
most  admired  of  the  name.  Achille  Grandissime,  he 
who  took  Agricola  away  from  Frowenfeld's  shop  in  the 
carriage,  essays  to  engage  Agamemnon  in  conversation, 
and  the  colonel,  with  a  glance  at  his  kinsman's  nether 
limbs  and  another  at  his  own,  and,  with  that  placid 
facility  with  which  the  graver  sort  of  Creoles  take  up 
the  trivial  topics  of  the  lighter,  grapples  the  subject  of 
boots.  A  tall,  bronzed,  slender  young  man,  who  pre 
fixes  to  Grandissime  the  maternal  St.  Blancard,  asks 
where  his  wife  is,  is  answered  from  a  distance,  throws 
her  a  kiss  and  sits  down  on  a  step,  with  Jean  Baptiste 
de  Grandissime,  a  piratical-looking  black-beard,  above 


212  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

him,  and  Alphonse  Mandarin,  an  olive-skinned  boy, 
below.  Valentine  Grandissime,  of  Tchoupitoulas,  goes 
quite  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  steps  and  leans 
against  the  balustrade.  He  is  a  large,  broad-shoul 
dered,  well-built  man,  and,  as  he  stands  smoking  a 
cigar,  with  his  black-stockinged  legs  crossed,  he  glances 
at  the  sky  with  the  eye  of  a  hunter — or,  it  may  be,  of  a 
sailor. 

"  Valentine  will  not  marry,"  says  one  of  two  ladies 
who  lean  over  the  rail  of  the  veranda  above.  "  I  won 
der  why." 

The  other  fixes  on  her  a  meaning  look,  and  she 
twitches  her  shoulders  and  pouts,  seeing  she  has  asked 
a  foolish  question,  the  answer  to  which  would  only  put 
Valentine  in  a  numerous  class  and  do  him  no  credit. 

Such  were  the  choice  spirits  of  the  family.  Agricola 
had  retired.  Raoul  was  there  ;  his  pretty  auburn  head 
might  have  been  seen  about  half-way  up  the  steps,  close 
to  one  well  sprinkled  with  premature  gray. 

"  No  such  thing  !  "  exclaimed  his  companion. 

(The  conversation  was  entirely  in  Creole  French.) 

"  I  give  you  my  sacred  word  of  honor  !  "  cried  Raoul. 
'  That  Honore  is  having  all  his  business  carried  on  in 
English  ?  "  asked  the  incredulous  Sylvestre.  (Such  was 
his  name.) 

"  I  swear—"  replied  Raoul,  resorting  to  his  favorite 
pledge—"  on  a  stack  of  Bibles  that  high  !  " 

"  Ah-h-h-h,  pf-f-f-f-f!" 

This  polite  expression  of  unbelief  was  further  empha 
sized  by  a  spasmodic  flirt  of  one  hand,  with  the  thumb 
pointed  outward. 

"  Ask  him !  ask  him  !  "  cried  Raoul. 

"  Honore  ! "    called    Sylvestre,    rising    up.      Two    or 


THE   FETE   DE    GRANDPKRE.  21$ 

three  persons  passed  the  call  around   the   corner  of  the 
veranda. 

Honore  came  with  a  chain  of  six  girls  on  either  arm. 
By  the  time  he  arrived,  there  was  a  Babel  of  discussion. 

"  Raoul  says  you  have  ordered  all  your  books  and  ac 
counts  to  be  written  in  English,"  said  Sylvestre. 

"Well?" 

"  It  is  not  true,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

The  entire  veranda  of  ladies  raised  one  long-drawn, 
deprecatory  "Ah!"  except  Honore"  s  mother.  She 
turned  upon  him  a  look  of  silent  but  intense  and  indig 
nant  disappointment. 

"  Honore  !  "  cried  Sylvestre,  desirous  of  repairing  his 
defeat,  "Honoro!" 

But  Honore  was  receiving  the  clamorous  abuse  of  the 
two  half  dozens  of  girls. 

"  Honore  !  "  cried  Sylvestre  again,  holding  up  a  torn 
scrap  of  writing-paper  which  bore  the  marks  of  the 
counting-room  floor  and  of  a  boot-heel,  "  how  do  you 
spell  '  la-dee  ?  " 

There  was  a  moment's  hush  to  hear  the  answer. 

"  Ask  Valentine,"  said  Honore. 

Everybody  laughed  aloud.  That  taciturn  man's  only 
retort  was  to  survey  the  company  above  him  with  an 
unmoved  countenance,  and  to  push  the  ashes  slowly 
from  his  cigar  with  his  little  finger.  M.  Valentine 
Grandissime,  of  Tchoupitoulas,  could  not  read. 

"  Show  it  to  Agricola,"  cried  two  or  three,  as  that 
great  man  came  out  upon  the  veranda,  heavy-eyed,  and 
with  tumbled  hair. 

Sylvestre,  spying  Agricola's  head  beyond  the  ladies, 
put  the  question. 


214  TIIE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"How  is  it  spelled  on  that  paper  ?"  retorted  the 
king  of  beasts. 

"  L-a-y— 

"  Ignoramus  !  "  growled  the  old  man. 

"  I  did  not  spell  it,"  cried  Raoul,  and  attempted  to 
seize  the  paper.  But  Sylvestre  throwing  his  hand  be 
hind  him,  a  lady  snatched  the  paper,  two  or  three  cried 
"Give  it  to  Agricola  !  "  and  a  pretty  boy,  whom  the 
laughter  and  excitement  had  lured  from  the  garden, 
scampered  up  the  steps  and  handed  it  to  the  old  man. 

"  Honore  !  "  cried  Raoul,  "it  must  not  be  read.  It 
is  one  of  your  private  matters." 

But  Raoul's  insinuation  that  anybody  would  entrust 
him  with  a  private  matter  brought  another  laugh. 

Honore  nodded  to  his  uncle  to  read  it  out,  and  those 
who  could  not  understand  English,  as  well  as  those  who 
could,  listened.  It  was  a  paper  Sylvestre  had  picked 
out  of  a  waste-basket  on  the  day  of  Aurore's  visit  to 
the  counting-room.  Agricola  read  : 

"  What  is  that  laycle  want  in  thare  with  Honoro  ?  " 

"  Honore  is  goin  giv  her  bac  that  proprety — that  is  Aurore  DeGrapion 
what  Agricola  kill  the  husband." 

That  was  the  whole  writing,  but  Agricola  never  fin 
ished.  He  was  reading  aloud — "  that  is  Aurore  De- 
Grap — 

At  that  moment  he  dropped  the  paper  and  blackened 
with  wrath  ;  a  sharp  flash  of  astonishment  ran  through 
the  company  ;  an  instant  of  silence  followed  and  Agri- 
cola's  thundering  voice  rolled  down  upon  Sylvestre  in  a 
succession  of  terrible  imprecations. 

It  was  painful  to  see  the  young  man's  face  as  speech 
less  he  received  this  abuse.  He  stood  pale  and  fright- 


THE   FETE   DE    GRANDPERE.  215 

ened,  with  a  smile  playing  about  his  mouth,  half  of  dis 
tress  and  half  of  defiance,  that  said  as  plain  as  a  smile 
could  say,  "  Uncle  Agricola,  you  will  have  to  pay  for 
this  mistake." 

As  the  old  man  ceased,  Sylvestre  turned  and  cast  a  look 
downward  to  Valentine  Grandissime  ;  then  walked  up 
the  steps  and  passing  with  a  courteous  bow  through  the 
group  that  surrounded  Agricola,  went  into  the  house. 
Valentine  looked  at  the  zenith,  then  at  his  shoe-buckles, 
tossed  his  cigar  quietly  into  the  grass  and  passed  around 
a  corner  of  the  house  to  meet  Sylvestre  in  the  rear. 

Honore  had  already  nodded  to  his  uncle  to  come  aside 
with  him,  and  Agricola  had -done  so.  The  rest  of  the 
company,  save  a  few  male  figures  down  in  the  garden, 
after  some  feeble  efforts  to  keep  up  their  spirits  on  the 
veranda,  remarked  the  growing  coolness  or  the  waning 
daylight,  and  singly  or  in  pairs  withdrew.  It  was  not 
long  before  Raoul,  who  had  come  up  upon  the  veranda, 
was  left  alone.  He  seemed  to  wait  for  something,  as, 
leaning  over  the  rail  while  the  stars  came  out,  he  sang  to 
himself,  in  a  soft  undertone,  a  snatch  of  a  Creole  song  : 

"  La  pluie — le  pluie  tombait, 
Crapaud  criait, 
Moustique  chantait " 

The  moon  shone  so  brightly  that  the  children  in  the 
garden  did  not  break  off  their  hide-and-seek,  and  now 
and  then  Raoul  suspended  the  murmur  of  his  song,  ab 
sorbed  in  the  fate  of  some  little  elf  gliding  from  one 
black  shadow  to  crouch  in  another.  He  was  himself  in 
the  deep  shade  of  a  magnolia,  over  whose  outer  boughs 
the  moonlight  was  trickling,  as  if  the  whole  tree  had 
been  dipped  in  quicksilver. 


2l6  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

In  the  broad  walk  running  down  to  the  garden  gate 
some  six  or  seven  dark  forms  sat  in  chairs,  not  too  far 
away  for  the  light  of  their  cigars  to  be  occasionally  seen 
and  their  voices  to  reach  his  ear  ;  but  he  did  not  listen. 
In  a  little  while  there  came.a  light  footstep,  and  a  soft, 
mock-startled  "Who  is  that  ?"  and  one  of  that  same 
sparkling  group  of  girls  that  had  lately  hung  upon  Ho- 
nore  came  so  close  to  Raoul,  in  her  attempt  to  discern 
his  lineaments,  that  their  lips  accidentally  met.  They 
had  but  a  moment  of  hand-in-hand  converse  before  they 
were  hustled  forth  by  a  feminine  scouting  party  and 
thrust  along  into  one  of  the  great  rooms  of  the  house, 
where  the  youth  and  beauty  of  the  Grandissimes  were 
gathered  in  an  expansive  semicircle  around  a  languish 
ing  fire,  waiting  to  hear  a  story,  or  a  song,  or  both,  or 
half  a  dozen  of  each,  from  that  master  of  narrative  and 
melody,  Raoul  Innerarity. 

"  But  mark,"  they  cried  unitedly,  "  you  have  got  to 
wind  up  with  the  story  of  Bras-Coupe  !  " 

" A  song  !     A  song  !  " 

"  Une  chanson  Creole  f     Une  chanson  des  negres!  " 

"  Sing  '  Ye    tole  dance  la  doung  y  doung    doung  !  ' ' 
cried  a  black-eyed  girl. 

Raoul  explained  that  it  had  too  many  objectionable 
phrases. 

"  Oh,  just  hum  the  objectionable  phrases  and  go  right 
on." 

But  instead  he  sang  them  this  : 

"  La  premier1  fois  mo  te  'oir  /*', 
Li  te  pose  an  bord  so  lit  ; 
Mo  tit1,  Boiizon,  bel  rfamonrest! 
L?auf  fois  li  te  si1  so  la  saise 
Comme  -vie  Aladam  dans  so  fauteil, 
Quand  li  vive  cute  soleil. 


THE  FETE   DE    GRANDP&RE. 

So  gies  ye  te  plis  noir  passe  la  notiitte, 
So  de  la  lev1  plis  donx  passe  la  quilte  ! 
Tou1  mo  la  vie,  zatnein  mo  oir 
Ein  n'amottrese  zoli  commc  fa  ! 

Mo1  blie  manze — mo1  blie  boir1 — 

Mo"1  blie  totit  dipi  f'  temps-la — 

Mo1  blie  parle — mo1  blie  dormi, 

Qitand  mo  pense  apr'es  zami  !  " 

"  And  you  have  heard  Bras-Coupe  sing  that,  your 
self?" 

"  Once  upon  a  time,"  said  Raoul,  warming  with  his 
subject,  "  we  were  coming  down  from  Pointe  Macarty 
in  three  pirogues.  We  had  been  three  days  fishing  and 
hunting  in  Lake  Salvador.  Bras-Coupe  had  one  pi 
rogue  with  six  paddles " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  cried  a  youth  named  Baltazar ;  "  sing 
that,  Raoul  !  " 

And  he  sang  that. 

"  But  oH,  Raoul,  sing  that  song  the  negroes  sing 
when  they  go  out  in  the  bayous  at  night,  stealing  pigs 
and  chickens  !  " 

"  That  boat  song,  do  you  mean,  which  they  sing  as  a 
signal  to  those  on  shore  ?  "  He  hummed. 


*=rm         N  |.rp:=n:=p=p=;^=F=g=a=-)»       m_' 
— ^=Ep=>-=fc«=rU—        zJ=j=b=zU== 


"  DC  zabs,  de  zabs,  de  counou  ouai'e  ouai'e, 
De  zabs,  de  zabs,  de  counou  ouai'e  ouai'e, 
10 


2l8  THE    GRANDISS1MES. 

Counou  ouaie  ouaie  ouaie  ouaie, 
Counou  ouaie  ouaie  ouaie  ouaie, 
Counou  ouaie  ouaie  ouaie,  momza, 
Momza,  momza,  momza,  momza, 
Roza  roza,  roza-et — momza." 

This  was  followed  by  another  and  still  another,  until 
the  hour  began  to  grow  late.  And  then  they  gathered 
closer  round  him  and  heard  the  promised  story.  At  the 
same  hour,  Honore  Grandissime,  wrapping  himself  in  a 
great-coat  and  giving  himself  up  to  sad  and  somewhat 
bitter  reflections,  had  wandered  from  the  paternal  house, 
and  by  and  by  from  the  grounds,  not  knowing  why  or 
whither,  but  after  a  time  soliciting,  at  Frowenfeld's  clos 
ing  door,  the  favor  of  his  company.  He  had  been  feel 
ing  a  kind  of  suffocation.  This  it  was  that  made  him 
seek  and  prize  the  presence  and  hand-grasp  of  the  inex 
perienced  apothecary.  He  led  him  out  to  the  edge  of 
the  river.  Here  they  sat  down,  and  with  a  laborious 
attempt  at  a  hard  and  jesting  mood,  Honor6  told  the 
same  dark  story. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

THE-  STORY  OF  BRAS-COUPE. 

"  A  VERY  little  more  than  eight  years  ago,"  began 
Honore — but  not  only  Honore,  buf  Raoul  also  ;  and  not 
only  they,  but  another,  earlier  on  the  same  day, — Honore, 
the  f.  m.  c.  But  we  shall  not  exactly  follow  the  words 
of  any  one  of  these. 

Bras-Coupe,  they  said,  had  been,  in  Africa  and  under 
another  name,  a  prince  among  his  people.  In  a  certain 
war  of  conquest,  to  which  he  had  been  driven  by  ennui, 
he  was  captured,  stripped  of  his  royalty,  marched  down 
upon  the  beach  of  the  Atlantic,  and,  attired  as  a  true  son 
of  Adam,  with  two  goodly  arms  intact,  became  a  com 
modity.  Passing  out  of  first  hands  in  barter  for  a  looking- 
glass,  he  was  shipped  in  good  order  and  condition  on 
board  the  good  schooner  Egalite,  whereof  Blank  was 
master,  to  be  delivered  without  delay  at  the  port  of  Nou- 
velle  Orleans  (the  dangers  of  fire  and  navigation  ex- 
cepted),  unto  Blank  Blank.  In  witness  whereof,  He  that 
made  men's  skins  of  different  colors,  but  all  blood  of  one, 
hath  entered  the  same  upon  His  book,  and  sealed  it  to 
the  day  of  judgment. 

Of  the  voyage  little  is  recorded — here  below  ;  the  less 
the  better.  Part  of  the  living  merchandise  failed  to 
keep  ;  the  weather  was  rough,  the  cargo  large,  the  vessel 
small.  However,  the  captain  discovered  there  was 


22O  THE    GRANDISS1MES. 

room  over  the  side,  and  there — all  flesh  is  grass — from 
time  to  time  during  the  voyage  he  jettisoned  the  unmer 
chantable. 

Yet,  when  the  reopened  hatches  let  in  the  sweet 
smell  of  the  land,  Bras-Coupe  had  come  to  the  upper— 
the  favored — the  buttered  side  of  the  world  ;  the  anchor 
slid  with  a  rumble  of  relief  down  through  the  muddy 
fathoms  of  the  Mississippi,  and  the  prince  could  hear 
through  the  schooner's  side  the  savage  current  of  the 
river,  leaping  and  licking  about  the  bows,  and  whimper 
ing  low  welcomes  home.  A  splendid  picture  to  the  eyes 
of  the  royal  captive,  as  his  head  came  up  out  of  the 
hatchway,  was  the  little  Franco-Spanish-American  city 
that  lay  on  the  low,  brimming  bank.  There  were  little 
forts  that  showed  their  whitewashed  teeth  ;  there  was  a 
green  parade-ground,  and  yellow  barracks,  and  cabildo, 
and  hospital,  and  cavalry  stables,  and  custom-house, 
and  a  most  inviting  jail,  convenient  to  the  cathedral — all 
of  dazzling  white  and  yellow,  with  a  black  stripe  mark 
ing  the  track  of  the  conflagration  of  1794,  and  here  and 
there  among  the  low  roofs  a  lofty  one  with  round-topped 
dormer  windows  and  a  breezy  belvidere  looking  out 
upon  the  plantations  of  coffee  and  indigo  beyond  the 
town. 

When  Bras-Coupe  staggered  ashore,  he  stood  but  a 
moment  among  a  drove  of  "  likely  boys,"  before  Agri^ 
cola  Fusilier,  managing  the  business  adventures  of  the 
Grandissime  estate,  as  well  as  the  residents  thereon,  and 
struck  with  admiration  for  the  physical  beauties  of  the 
chieftain  (a  man  may  even  fancy  a  negro — as  a  negro), 
bought  the  lot,  and  loth  to  resell  him  with  the  rest  to 
some  unappreciative  'Cadian,  induced  Don  Jose  Marti 
nez'  overseer  to  become  his  purchaser. 


THE   STORY  OF  BRAS-COUPS.  221 

Down  in  the  rich  parish  of  St.  Bernard  (whose  boun 
dary  line  now  touches  that  of  the  distended  city)  lay  the 
plantation,  known  before  Bras-Coupe  passed  away,  as 
La  Renaissance.  Here  it  was  that  he  entered  at  once 
upon  a  chapter  of  agreeable  surprises.  He  was  hu 
manely  met,  presented  with  a  clean  garment,  lifted  into 
a  cart  drawn  by  oxen,  taken  to  a  whitewashed  cabin  of 
logs,  finer  than  his  palace  at  home,  and  made  to  compre 
hend  that  it  was  a  free  gift.  He  was  also  given  some 
clean  food,  whereupon  he  fell  sick.  At  home  it  would 
have  been  the  part  of  piety  for  the  magnate  next  the 
throne  to  launch  him  heavenward  at  once  ;  but  now, 
healing  doses  were  administered,  and  to  his  amazement 
he  recovered.  It  reminded  him  that  he  was  no  longer 
king. 

His  name,  he  replied  to  an  inquiry  touching  that  sub 
ject,  was  -  — ,  something  in  the  Jaloff  tongue, 

which  he  by  and  by  condescended  to  render  into  Congo  : 
Mioko-Koanga,  in  French  Bras-Coupe,  the  Arm  Cut 
Off.  Truly  it  would  have  been  easy  to  admit,  had  this 
been  his  meaning,  that  his  tribe,  in  losing  him,  had  lost 
its  strong  right  arm  close  off  at  the  shoulder ;  not  so 
easy  for  his  high-paying  purchaser  to  allow,  if  this  other 
was  his  intent ;  that  the  arm  which  might  no  longer 
"shake  the  spear  or  swing  the  wooden  sword,  was  no  bet 
ter  than  a  useless  stump  never  to  be  lifted  for  aught  else. 
But  whether  easy  to  allow  or  not,  that  was  his  meaning. 
He  made  himself  a  type  of  all  Slavery,  turning  into  flesh 
and  blood  the  truth  that  all  Slavery  is  maiming. 

He  beheld  more  luxury  in  a  week  than  all  his  subjects 
had  seen  in  a  century.  Here  Congo  girls  were  dressed 
in  cottons  and  flannels  worth,  where  he  came  from,  an 
elephant's  tusk  apiece.  Everybody  wore  clothes — chil- 


222  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

dren  and  lads  alone  excepted.  Not  a  lion  had  invaded 
the  settlement  since  his  immigration.  The  serpents 
were  as  nothing ;  an  occasional  one  coming  up  through 
the  floor — that  was  all.  True,  there  was  more  emacia 
tion  than  unassisted  conjecture  could  explain — a  profu 
sion  of  enlarged  joints  and  diminished  muscles,  which, 
thank  God,  was  even  then  confined  to  a  narrow  section 
and  disappeared  with  Spanish  rule.  He  had  no  experi 
mental  knowledge  of  it ;  nay,  regular  meals,  on  the  con 
trary,  gave  him  anxious  concern,  yet  had  the  effect — 
spite  of  his  apprehension  that  he  was  being  fattened  for 
a  purpose — of  restoring  the  herculean  puissance  which 
formerly  in  Africa  had  made  him  the  terror  of  the 
battle. 

When  one  day  he  had  come  to  be  quite  himself,  he 
was  invited  out  into  the  sunshine,  and  escorted  by  the 
driver  (a  sort  of  foreman  to  the  overseer),  went  forth 
dimly  wondering.  They  reached  a  field  where  some 
men  and  women  were  hoeing.  He  had  seen  men  and 
women — subjects  of  his — labor — a  little — in  Africa.  The 
driver  handed  him  a  hoe  ;  he  examined  it  with  silent  in 
terest — until  by  signs  he  was  requested  to  join  the  pas 
time. 

"What?" 

He  spoke,  not  with  his  lips,  but  with  the  recoil  of  his 
splendid  frame  and  the  ferocious  expansion  of  his  eyes. 
This  invitation  was  a  cataract  of  lightning  leaping  down 
an  ink-black  sky.  In  one  instant  of  all-pervading  clear 
ness  he  read  his  sentence — WORK. 

Bras-Coupe  was  six  feet  five.  With  a  sweep  as  quick 
as  instinct  the  back  of  the  hoe  smote  the  driver  full  in 
the  head.  Next,  the  prince  lifted  the  nearest  Congo 
crosswise,  brought  thirty-two  teeth  together  in  his  wildly 


THE   STORY  OF  BRAS-COUPt.  223 

kicking  leg  and  cast  him  away  as  a  bad  morsel ;  then, 
throwing  another  into  the  branches  of  a  willow,  and  a 
woman  over  his  head  into  a  draining-ditch,  he  made  one 
bound  for  freedom,  and  fell  to  his  knees,  rocking  from 
side  to  side  under  the  effect  of  a  pistol-ball  from  the  over 
seer.  It  had  struck  him  in  the  forehead,  and  running 
around  the  skull  in  search  of  a  penetrable  spot,  tradition 
—which  sometimes  jests — says  came  but  despairingly, 
exactly  where  it  had  entered. 

It  so  happened  that,  except  the  overseer,  the  whole 
company  were  black.  Why  should  the  trivial  scandal 
be  blabbed  ?  A  plaster  or  two  made  everything  even 
in  a  short  time,  except  in  the  driver's  case — for  the 
driver  died.  The  woman  whom  Bras-Coupe  had  thrown 
over  his  head  lived  to  sell  calas  to  Joseph  Frowenfeld. 

Don  Jose,  young  and  austere,  knew  nothing  about 
agriculture  and  cared  as  much  about  human  nature. 
The  overseer  often  thought  this,  but  never  said  it ;  he 
would  not  trust  even  himself  with  the  dangerous  criti 
cism.  When  he  ventured  to  reveal  the  foregoing  inci 
dents  to  the  senor  he  laid  all  the  blame  possible  upon 
the  man  whom  death  had  removed  beyond  the  reach  of 
correction,  and  brought  his  account  to  a  climax  by  haz 
arding  the  assertion  that  Bras-Coupe  was  an  animal  that 
could  not  be  whipped. 

"  Caramba  !  "  exclaimed  the  master,  with  gentle  em 
phasis,  "  how  so  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  seilor  had  better  ride  down  to  the  quarters," 
replied  the  overseer. 

It  was  a  great  sacrifice  of  dignity,  but  the  master 
made  it. 

"  Bring  him  out." 

They  brought  him  out — chains  on  his  feet,  chains  on 


224  THE    GRANDISSLMES. 

his  wrists,  an  iron  yoke  on  his  neck.  The  Spanish- 
Creole  master  had  often  seen  the  bull,  with  his  long, 
keen  horns  and  blazing  eye,  standing  in  the  arena  ;  but 
this  was  as  though  he  had  come  face  to  face  with  a  rhi 
noceros. 

"  This  man  is  not  a  Congo,"  he  said. 

"  He  is  a  Jaloff,"  replied  the  encouraged  overseer. 
"  See  his  fine,  straight  nose;  moreover,  he  is  •zcandio 
— a  prince.  If  I  whip  him  he  will  die." 

The  dauntless  captive  and  fearless  master  stood  look 
ing  into  each  other's  eyes  until  each  recognized  in  the 
other  his  peer  in  physical  courage,  and  each  was  struck 
with  an  admiration  for  the  other  which  no  after  differ 
ence  was  sufficient  entirely  to  destroy.  Had  Bras- 
Coupe's  eye  quailed  but  once — just  for  one  little  instant 
— he  would  have  got  the  lash  ;  but,  as  it  was 

"  Get  an  interpreter,"  said  Don  Jose  ;  then,  more 
privately,  "  and  come  to  an  understanding.  I  shall  re 
quire  it  of  you." 

Where  might  one  find  an  interpreter — one  not  merely 
able  to  render  a  Jalofifs  meaning  into  Creole  French,  or 
Spanish,  but  with  such  a  turn  for  diplomatic  correspond 
ence  as  would  bring  about  an  "understanding"  with 
this  African  buffalo  ?  The  overseer  was  left  standing 
and  thinking,  and  Clemence,  who  had  not  forgotten  who 
threw  her  into  the  draining-ditch,  cunningly  passed  by. 

"  Ah,  Clemence " 

"  Mo  pas  capabe  !  Mo  pas  capabe  !  (I  cannot,  I  can 
not  ! )  Ya,  ya,  ya  !  'oir  MicJrf  AgricoP  Fusilier  !  ouala 
yune  bon  monturc,  oni  !  " — which  was  to  signify  that 
Agricola  could  interpret  the  very  Papa  Lcbat. 

"  Agricola  Fusilier  !  The  last  man  on  earth  to  make 
peace." 


THE  STORY  OF  BRAS-COUPt.  22$ 

But  there  seemed  to  be  no  choice,  and  to  Agricola 
the  overseer  went.  It  was  but  a  little  ride  to  the  Gran- 
dissime  place. 

"I,  Agricola  Fusilier,  stand  as  an  interpreter  to  a 
negro  ?  H-sir  \  " 

"  But  I  thought  you  might  know  of  some  person," 
said  the  weakening  applicant,  rubbing  his  ear  with  his 
hand. 

"  Ah  !  "  replied  Agricola,  addressing  the  surrounding 
scenery,  "  if  I  did  not — who  would?  You  may  take 
Palmyre." 

The  overseer  softly  smote  his  hands  together  at  the 
happy  thought. 

"  Yes,"  said  Agricola,  "  take  Palmyre  ;  she  has 
picked  up  as  many  negro  dialects  as  I  know  European 
languages." 

And  she  went  to  the  don's  plantation  as  interpretess, 
followed  by  Agricola's  prayer  to  Fate  that  she  might  in 
some  way  be  overtaken  by  disaster.  The  two  hated 
each  other  with  all  the  strength  they  had.  He  knew 
not  only  her  pride,  but  her  passion  for  the  absent 
Honore.  He  hated  her,  also,  for  her  intelligence,  for 
the  high  favor  in  which  she  stood  with  her  mistress,  and 
for  her  invincible  spirit,  which  was  more  offensively 
patent  to  him  than  to  others,  since  he  was  himself  the 
chief  object  of  her  silent  detestation. 

It  was  Palmyre's  habit  to  do  nothing  without  pains 
taking.  "When  Mademoiselle  comes  to  be  Seflora," 
thought  she — she  knew  that  her  mistress  and  the  don  were 
affianced — ' '  it  will  be  well  to  have  Sefior's  esteem.  I  shall 
endeavor  to  succeed."  It  was  from  this  motive,  then, 
that  with  the  aid  of  her  mistress  she  attired  herself  in  a 
resplendence  of  scarlet  and  beads  and  feathers  that  could 


226  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

not  fail  the  double  purpose  of  connecting  her  with  the 
children  of  Ethiopia  and  commanding  the  captive's  in 
stant  admiration. 

Alas  for  those  who  succeed  too  well !  No  sooner  did 
the  African  turn  his  tiger  glance  upon  her  than  the  fire 
of  his  eyes  died  out ;  and  when  she  spoke  to  him  in  the 
dear  accents  of  his  native  tongue,  the  matter  of  strife 
vanished  from  his  mind.  He  loved. 

He  sat  down  tamely  in  his  irons  and  listened  to  Pal- 
myre's  argument  as  a  wrecked  mariner  would  listen  to 
ghostly  church-bells.  He  would  give  a  short  assent, 
feast  his  eyes,  again  assent,  and  feast  his  ears  ;  but  when 
at  length  she  made  bold  to  approach  the  actual  issue, 
and  finally  uttered  the  loathed  word,  Work,  he  rose  up, 
six  feet  five,  a  statue  of  indignation  in  black  marble. 

And  then  Palmyre,  too,  rose  up,  glorying  in  him,  and 
went  to  explain  to  master  and  overseer.  Bras  Coup6 
understood,  she  said,  that  he  was  a  slave — it  was  the  for 
tune  of  war,  and  he  was  a  warrior  ;  but,  according  to  a 
generally  recognized  principle  in  African  international 
law,  he  could  not  reasonably  be  expected  to  work. 

"As  sefior  will  remember  I  told  him,"  remarked  the 
overseer  ;  "  how  can  a  man  expect  to  plow  with  a 
zebra  ?  " 

Here  he  recalled  a  fact  in  his  eafly  experience.  An 
African  of  this  stripe  had  been  found  to  answer  admira 
bly  as  a  "  driver  "  to  make  others  work.  A  second  and 
third  parley,  extending  through  two  or  three  days,  were 
held  with  the  prince,  looking  to  his  appointment  to  the 
vacant  office  of  driver  ;  yet  what  was  the  master's 
amazement  to  learn  at  length  that  his  Highness  declined 
the  proffered  honor. 

"  Stop  !  "  spoke  the  overseer  again,  detecting  a  look 


THE  STORY  OF  BRAS-COUP^.  22/ 

of  alarm  in  Palmyra's  face  as  she  turned  away,  "he 
doesn't  do  any  such  thing.  If  Sefior  will  let  me  take 
the  man  to  Agricola " 

"No!"  cried  Palmyre,  with  an  agonized  look,  "I 
will  tell.  He  will  take  the  place  and  fill  it  if  you  will 
give  me  to  him  for  his  own — but  oh,  messieurs,  for  the 
love  of  God — I  do  not  want  to  be  his  wife  !  " 

The  overseer  looked  at  the  Seiior,  ready  to  approve 
whatever  he  should  decide.  Bras-Coupe's  intrepid  au 
dacity  took  the  Spaniard's  heart  by  irresistible  assault. 

"  I  leave  it  entirely  with  Sefior  Fusilier,"  he  said. 

"  But  he  is  not  my  master  ;  he  has  no  right — 

"  Silence  !  " 

And  she  was  silent ;  and  so,  sometimes,  is  fire  in  the 
wall. 

Agricola's  consent  was  given  with  malicious  prompt 
ness,  and  as  Bras-Coupe's  fetters  fell  off  it  was  decreed 
that,  should  he  fill  his  office  efficiently,  there  should  be  a 
wedding  on  the  rear  veranda  of  the  Grandissime  man 
sion  simultaneously  with  the  one  already  appointed  to 
take  place  in  the  grand  hall  of  the  same  house  six 
months  from  that  present  day.  In  the  meanwhile 
Palmyre  should  remain  with  Mademoiselle,  who  had 
promptly  but  quietly  made  up  her  mind  that  Palmyre 
should  not  be  wed  unless  she  wished  to  be.  Bras-Coupe 
made  no  objection,  was  royally  worthless  for  a  time,  but 
learned  fast,  mastered  the  "gumbo"  dialect  in  a  few 
weeks,  and  in  six  months  was  the  most  valuable  man 
ever  bought  for  gourde  dollars.  Nevertheless,  there 
were  but  three  persons  within  as  many  square  miles  who 
were  not  most  vividly  afraid  of  him. 

The  first  was  Palmyre.  His  bearing  in  her  presence 
was  ever  one  of  solemn,  exalted  respect,  which,  whether 


228  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

from  pure  magnanimity  in  himself,  or  by  reason  of  her 
magnetic  eye,  was  something  worth  being  there  to  see. 
"  It  was  royal  !  "  said  the  overseer. 

The  second  was  not  that  official.  When  Bras-Coupe 
said — as,  at  stated  intervals,  he  did  say — "Mo  courri 
cez  Agricole  Fusilier  'pou  oir'  riamourouse  (I  go  to 
Agricola  Fusilier  to  see  my  betrothed,)"  the  overseer 
would  sooner  have  intercepted  a  score  of  painted  Chicka- 
saws  than  that  one  lover.  He  would  look  after  him  and 
shake  a  prophetic  head.  "  Trouble  coming  ;  better  not 
deceive  that  fellow  ;  "  yet  that  was  the  very  thing 
Palmyre  dared  do.  Her  admiration  for  Bras-Coupe  was 
almost  boundless.  She  rejoiced  in  his  stature  ;  she  rev 
elled  in  the  contemplation  of  his  untamable  spirit ;  he 
seemed  to  her  the  gigantic  embodiment  of  her  own 
dark,  fierce  will,  the  expanded  realization  of  her  life 
time  longing  for  terrible  strength.  But  the  single  defi 
ciency  in  all  this  impassioned  regard  was — what  so  many 
fairer  loves  have  found  impossible  to  explain  to  so  many 
gentler  lovers — an  entire  absence  of  preference  ;  her 
heart  she  could  not  give  him — she  did  not  have  it.  Yet 
after  her  first  prayer  to  the  Spaniard  and  his  overseer 
for  deliverance,  to  the  secret  suprise  and  chagrin  of  her 
young  mistress,  she  simulated  content.  It  was  artifice  ; 
she  knew  Agricola's  power,  and  to  seem  to  consent  was 
her  one  chance  with  him.  He  might  thus  be  beguiled 
into  withdrawing  his  own  consent.  That  failing,  she 
had  Mademoiselle's  promise  to  come  to  the  rescue,  which 
she  could  use  at  the  last  moment  ;  and  that  failing,  there 
was  a  dirk  in  her  bosom,  for  which  a  certain  hard  breast 
was  not  too  hard.  Another  element  of  safety,  of  which 
she  knew  nothing,  was  a  letter  from  the  Cannes  Brulee. 
The  word  had  reached  there  that  love  had  conquered — 


THE   STORY   OF  BRAS-COUPt.  22Q 

that,  despite  all  hard  words,  and  rancor,  and  positive  in 
jury,  the  Grandissime  hand — the  fairest  of  Grandissime 
hands — was  about  to  be  laid  into  that  of  one  who  with 
out  much  stretch  might  be  called  a  De  Grapion  ;  that 
there  was,  moreover,  positive  effort  being  made  to  in 
duce  a  restitution  of  old  gaming-table  spoils.  Honore 
and  Mademoiselle,  his  sister,  one  on  each  side  of  the 
Atlantic,  were  striving  for  this  end.  Don  Jose  sent  this 
intelligence  to  his  kinsman  as  glad  tidings  (a  lover  never 
imagines  there  are  two  sides  to  that  which  makes  him 
happy),  and,  to  add  a  touch  of  humor,  told  how  Palmyre, 
also,  was  given  to  the  chieftain.  The  letter  that  came 
back  to  the  young  Spaniard  did  not  blame  him  so  much  : 
he  was  ignorant  of  all  the  facts  ;  but  a  very  formal  one 
to  Agricola  begged  to  notify  him  that  if  Palmyre's  union 
with  Bras-Coupe  should  be  completed,  as  sure  as  there 
was  a  God  in  heaven,  the  writer  would  have  the  life  of 
the  man  who  knowingly  had  thus  endeavored  to  dis 
honor  one  who  shared  the  blood  of  tJie  De  Grapions, 
Thereupon  Agricola,  contrary  to  his  general  character, 
began  to  drop  hints  to  Don  Jose  that  the  engagement  of 
Bras-Coupe  and  Palmyre  need  not  be  considered  irrever 
sible  ;  but  the  don  was  not  desirous  of  disappointing  his 
terrible  pet.  Palmyre,  unluckily,  played  her  game  a 
little  too  deeply.  She  thought  the  moment  had  come 
for  herself  to  insist  on  the  match,  and  thus  provoke 
Agricola  to  forbid  it.  To  her  incalculable  dismay  she 
saw  him  a  second  time  reconsider  and  become  silent. 

The  second  person  who  did  not  fear  Bras-Coupe  was 
Mademoiselle.  On  one  of  the  giant's  earliest  visits  to  see 
Palmyre  he  obeyed  the  summons  which  she  brought 
him,  to  appear  before  the  lady.  A  more  artificial  man 
might  have  objected  on  the  score  of  dress,  his  attire 


230  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

being  a  single  gaudy  garment  tightly  enveloping  the 
waist  and  thighs.  As  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  beautiful 
white  lady  he  prostrated  himself  upon  the  ground,  his 
arms  outstretched  before  him.  He  would  not  move  till 
she  was  prone.  Then  he  arose  like  a  hermit  who  has 

o 

seen  a  vision.  "  Bras- Coupe  -n  pas  oulc  oir  zombis 
(Bras-Coupe  dares  not  look  upon  a  spirit)."  From  that 
hour  he  worshipped.  He  saw  her  often  ;  every  time, 
after  one  glance  at  her  countenance,  he  would  prostrate 
his  gigantic  length  with  his  face  in  the  dust. 

The  third  person  who  did  not  fear  him  was — Agricola  ? 
Nay,  it  was  the  Spaniard — a  man  whose  capability  to 
fear  anything  in  nature  or  beyond  had  never  been  dis 
covered. 

Long  before  the  end  of  his  probation  Bras-Coupe 
would  have  slipped  the  entanglements  of  bondage,  though 
as  yet  he  felt  them  only  as  one  feels  a  spider's  web 
across  the  face,  had  not  the  master,  according  to  a  little 
affectation  of  the  times,  promoted  him  to  be  his  game 
keeper.  Many  a  day  did  these  two  living  magazines  of 
wrath  spend  together  in  the  dismal  swamps  and  on  the 
meagre  intersecting  ridges,  making  war  upon  deer  and 
bear  and  wildcat  ;  or  on  the  Mississippi  after  wild  goose 
and  pelican  ;  when  even  a  word  misplaced  would  have 
made  either  the  slayer  of  the  other.  Yet  the  months 
ran  smoothly  round  and  the  wedding  night  drew  nigh.* 
A  goodly  company  had  assembled.  All  things  were 
ready.  The  bride  was  dressed,  the  bridegroom  had 

*  An  over-zealous  Franciscan  once  complained  bitterly  to  the  bishop  of 
Havana,  that  people  were  being  married  in  Louisiana  in  their  own  houses 
after  dark  and  thinking  nothing  of  it.  It  is  not  certain  that  he  had  refer 
ence  to  the  Grandissime  mansion ;  at  any  rate  he  was  tittered  down  by  the 
whole  community. 


THE   STORY  OF  BRAS-COUPS.  231 

come.  On  the  great  back  piazza,  which  had  been  in 
closed  with  sail-cloth  and  lighted  with  lanterns,  was 
Palmyre,  full  of  a  new  and  deep  design  and  playing  her 
deceit  to  the  last,  robed  in  costly  garments  to  whose 
beauty  was  added  the  charm  of  their  having  been  worn 
once,  and  once  only,  by  her  beloved  Mademoiselle. 

But  where  was  Bras-Coupe? 

The  question  was  asked  of  Palmyre  by  Agricola  with 
a  gaze  that  meant  in  English,  "  No  tricks,  girl  !  " 

Among  the  servants  who  huddled  at  the  windows  and 
door  to  see  the  inner  magnificence  a  frightened  whisper 
was  already  going  round. 

"We  have  made  a  sad  discovery,  Miche  Fusilier," 
said  the  overseer.  "  Bras-Coupe  is  here  ;  we  have  him 
in  a  room  just  yonder.  But — the  truth  is,  sir,  Bras- 
Coupe  is  a  voudou." 

"  Well,  and  suppose  he  is;  what  of  it?  Only  hush  ; 
do  not  let  his  master  know  it.  It  is  nothing ;  all  the 
blacks  are  voudous,  more  or  less." 

"  But  he  declines  to  dress  himself — has  painted  him 
self  all  rings  and  stripes,  antelope  fashion." 

"Tell  him  Agricola  Fusilier  says,  'dress  immedi 
ately  ! "' 

"Oh,  Miche,  "we  have  said  that  five  times  already, 
and  his  answer — you  will  pardon  me — his  answer  is — 
spitting  on  the  ground — that  you  are  a  contemptible 
dotcJiian  (white  trash)." 

•There  is  nothing  to  do  but  privily  to  call  the  very 
bride — the  lady  herself.  She  comes  forth  in  all  her 
glory,  small,  but  oh,  so  beautiful !  Slam  !  Bras-Coupe 
is  upon  his  face,  his  finger-tips  touching  the  tips  of  her 
snowy  slippers.  She  gently  bids  him  go  and  dress,  and 
at  once  he  goes. 


232  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

Ah  !  now  the  question  may  be  answered  without 
whispering.  There  is  Bras-Coupe,  towering  above  all 
heads,  in  ridiculous  red  and  blue  regimentals,  but  with 
a  look  of  savage  dignity  upon  him  that  keeps  every  one 
from  laughing.  The  murmur  of  admiration  that  passed 
along  the  thronged  gallery  leaped  up  into  a  shout  in  the 
bosom  of  Palmyre.  Oh,  Bras-Coupe — heroic  soul  ! 
She  would  not  falter.  She  would  let  the  silly  priest  say 
his  say — then  her  cunning  should  help  her  not  to  be  his 
wife,  yet  to  show  his  mighty  arm  how  and  when  to 
strike. 

"He  is  looking  for  Palmyre,"  said  some,  and  at  that 
moment  he  saw  her. 

"  Ho-o-o-o-o  !  " 

Agricola's  best  roar  was  a  penny  trumpet  to  Bras- 
Coupe's  note  of  joy.  The  whole  masculine  half  of  the 
in-door  company  flocked  out  to  see  what  the  matter  was. 
Bras-Coupe  was  taking  her  hand  in  one  of  his  and  laying 
his  other  upon  her  head  ;  and  as  some  one  made  an  un 
necessary  gesture  for  silence,  he  sang,  beating  slow  and 
solemn  time  with  his  naked  foot  and  with  the  hand  that 
dropped  hers  to  smite  his  breast: 

"  '  En  haut  la  montagne,  zami, 
Mo  pe  coupe  tanne,  zami, 
Poit1  fe  Sa'zerf  zami, 
Pou1  mo  bailie  Palmyre. 
Ah  !  Palmyre,  Palmyre  mo  Sere, 
Mo  faime  '0u' — mo  I'aime  0#V  " 

"Montagnef '  asked  one  slave  of  another,  "  qui  ci 
$a,  montagne?  gnia  pas  qui<;  ose  connne  $a  dans  la 
Louisiana  ?  (What's  a  mountain  ?  We  haven't  such 
tilings  in  Louisiana.)" 


THE   STORY   OF  BRAS-COUPS.  233 

"  Mein  ye  gagnein  plein  mont agues  dans  tAfriqtie, 
listen  !  " 

' ' '  Ah  !  Palmyre,  Palmyre,  mo1  piti  zozo, 
Mo  Palme  W — mo  Palme,  Palme  '0z/.'  " 

"  Bravissimo  !—  '  but  just  then  a  counter-attraction 
drew  the  white  company  back  into  the  house.  An  old 
French  priest  with  sandalled  feet  and  a  dirty  face  had 
arrived.  There  was  a  moment  of  hand-shaking  with  the 
good  father,  then  a  moment  of  palpitation  and  holding 
of  the  breath,  and  then— you  would  have  known  it  by 
the  turning  away  of  two  or  three  feminine  heads  in  tears 
— the  lily  hand  became  the  don's,  to  have  and  to  hold, 
by  authority  of  the  Church  and  the  Spanish  king.  And 
all  was  merry,  save  that  outside  there  was  coming  up  as 
villanous  a  night  as  ever  cast  black  looks  in  through 
snug  windows. 

It  was  just  as  the  newly  wed  Spaniard,  with  Agricola 
and  all  the  guests,  were  concluding  the  by-play  of 
marrying  the  darker  couple,  that  the  hurricane  struck 
the  dwelling.  The  holy  and  jovial  father  had  made 
faint  pretence  of  kissing  this  second  bride  ;  the  ladies, 
colonels,  dons,  etc., — though  the  joke  struck  them  as  a 
trifle  coarse — were  beginning  to  laugh  and  clap  hands 
again  and  the  gowned  jester  to  bow  to  right  and  left, 
when  Bras-Coupe,  tardily  realizing  the  consummation 
of  his  hopes,  stepped  forward  to  embrace  his  wife. 

"  Bras-Coupe  ! " 

The  voice  was 'that  of  Paltnyre's  mistress.  She  had 
not  been  able  to  comprehend  her  maid's  behavior,  but 
now  Palmyre  had  darted  upon  her  an  appealing  look. 

The  warrior  stopped  as  if  a  javelin  had  flashed  over 
his  head  and  stuck  in  the  wall. 


234  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  Bras-Coupe  must  wait  till  I  give  him  his  wife." 

He  sank,  with  hidden  face,  slowly  to  the  floor. 

"  Bras-Coupe  hears  the  voice  of  zombis  ;  the  voice  is 
sweet,  but  the  words  are  very  strong  ;  from  the  same 
sugar-cane  comes  strop  and  tafia ;  Bras-Coupe  says  to 
zombis,  '  Bras-Coupe  will  wait ;  but  if  the  dotchians  de 
ceive  Bras-Coupe"— "  he  rose  to  his  feet  with  his  eyes 
closed  and  his  great  black  fist  lifted  over  his  head — 
"  Bras-Coupe  will  call  Voudou-Magnan  !  " 

The  crowd  retreated  and  the  storm  fell  like  a  burst  of 
infernal  applause.  A  whiff  like  fifty  witches  flouted  up 
the  canvas  curtain  of  the  gallery  and  a  fierce  black 
cloud,  drawing  the  moon  under  its  cloak,  belched  forth 
a  stream  of  fire  that  seemed  to  flood  the  ground  ;  a  peal 
of  thunder  followed  as  if  the  sky  had  fallen  in,  the  house 
quivered,  the  great  oaks  groaned,  and  every  lesser  thing 
bowed  down  before  the  awful  blast.  Every  lip  held  its 
breath  for  a  minute — or  an  hour,  no  one  knew — there 
was  a  sudden  lull  of  the  wind,  and  the  floods  came 
down.  Have  you  heard  it  thunder  and  rain  in  those 
Louisiana  lowlands  ?  Every  clap  seems  to  crack  the 
world.  It  has  rained  a  moment ;  you  peer  through 
the  black  pane — your  house  is  an  island,  all  the  land  is 
sea. 

However,  the  supper  was  spread  in  the  hall  and 
in  due  time  the  guests  were  filled.  Then  a  supper  was 
spread  in  the  big  hall  in  the  basement,  below  stairs,  the 
sons  and  daughters  of  Ham  came  down  like  the  fowls 
of  the  air  upon  a  rice-field,  and  Bras-Coupe,  throwing 
his  heels  about  with  the  joyous  carelessness  of  a  smutted 
Mercury,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  tasted  the  blood  of 
the  grape.  A  second,  a  fifth,  a  tenth  time  he  tasted  it, 
drinking  more  deeply  each  time,  and  would  have  taken 


THE   STORY  OF  BRAS-COUPS.  235 

it  ten  times  more  had  not  his  bride  cunningly  concealed 
it.  It  was  like  stealing  a  tiger's  kittens. 

The  moment  quickly  came  when  he  wanted  his 
eleventh  bumper.  As  he  presented  his  request  a  silent 
shiver  of  consternation  ran  through  the  dark  company  ; 
and  when,  in  what  the  prince  meant  as  a  remonstrative 
tone,  he  repeated  the  petition — splitting  the  table  with 
his  fist  by  way  of  punctuation — there  ensued  a  hustling 
up  staircases  and  a  cramming  into  dim  corners  that  left 
him  alone  at  the  banquet. 

Leaving  the  table,  he  strode  upstairs  and  into  the 
chirruping  and  dancing  of  the  grand  salon.  There  was 
a  halt  in  the  cotillion  and  a  hush  of  amazement  like  the 
shutting  off  of  steam.  Bras-Coupe  strode  straight  to  his 
master,  laid  his  paw  upon  his  fellow-bridegroom's 
shoulder  and  in  a  thunder-tone  demanded  : 

"  More  !" 

The  master  swore  a  Spanish  oath,  lifted  his  hand  and 
— fell,  beneath  the  terrific  fist  of  his  slave,  with  a  bang 
that  jingled  the  candelabras.  Dolorous  stroke  ! — for  the 
dealer  of  it.  Given,  apparently  to  him — poor,  tipsy 
savage — in  self-defence,  punishable,  in  a  white  offender, 
by  a  small  fine  or  a  few  days'  imprisonment,  it  assured 
Bras-Coupe  the  death  of  a  felon  ;  such  was  the  old  Code 
Noir.  (We  have  a  Code  Noir  now,  but  the  new  one  is 
a  mental  reservation,  not  an  enactment.) 

The  guests  stood  for  an  instant  as  if  frozen,  smitten 
stiff  with  the  instant  expectation  of  insurrection,  confla 
gration  and  rapine  (just  as  we  do  to-day  whenever  some 
poor  swaggering  Pompey  rolls  up  his  fist  and  gets  a  ball 
through  his  body),  while,  single-handed  and  naked- 
fisted  in  a  room  full  of  swords,  the  giant  stood  over  his 
master,  making  strange  signs  and  passes  and  rolling  out 


236  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

in  wrathful  words  of  his  mother  tongue  what  it  needed 
no  interpreter  to  tell  his  swarming  enemies  was  a  voudou 
malediction. 

"  Nous  sommcs  grigis  !  "  screamed  two  or  three  ladies, 
"  we  are  bewitched  !  " 

"Look  to  your  wives  and  daughters!"  shouted  a 
Brahmin-Mandarin. 

"  Shoot  the  black  devils  without  mercy  !"  cried  a 
Mandarin-Fusilier,  unconsciously  putting  into  a  single 
outflash  of  words  the  whole  Creole  treatment  of  race 
troubles. 

With  a  single  bound  Bras-Coupd  reached  the  draw 
ing-room  door ;  his  gaudy  regimentals  made  a  red  and 
blue  streak  down  the  hall  ;  there  was  a  rush  of  frilled 
and  powdered  gentlemen  to  the  rear  veranda,  an  ava 
lanche  of  lightning  with  Bras-Coupe  in  the  midst  mak 
ing  for  the  swamp,  and  then  all  without  was  blackness 
of  darkness  and  all  within  was  a  wild  commingled  chat 
ter  of  Creole,  French,  and  Spanish  tongues, — in  the 
midst  of  which  the  reluctant  Agricola  returned  his  dress- 
sword  to  its  scabbard. 

While  the  wet  lanterns  swung  on  crazily  in  the  trees 
along  the  way  by  which  the  bridegroom  was  to  have 
borne  his  bride  ;  while  Madame  Grandissime  prepared 
an  impromptu  bridal-chamber  ;  while  the  Spaniard 
bathed  his  eye  and  the  blue  gash  on  his  cheek-bone  ; 
while  Palmyre  paced  her  room  in  a  fever  and  wild  tremor 
of  conflicting  emotions  throughout  the  night  and  the 
guests  splashed  home  after  the  storm  as  best  they  could, 
Bras-Coupe  was  practically  declaring  his  independence 
on  a  slight  rise  of  ground  hardly  sixty  feet  in  circumfer 
ence  and  lifted  scarce  above  the  water  in  the  inmost 
depths  of  the  swamp. 


THE   STORY  OF  BRAS-COUP^.  237 

And  what  surroundings !  Endless  colonnades  of 
cypresses  ;  long,  motionless  drapings  of  gray  moss  ; 
broad  sheets  of  noisome  waters,  pitchy  black,  resting  on 
bottomless  ooze  ;  cypress  knees  studding  the  surface  ; 
patches  of  floating  green,  gleaming  brilliantly  here  and 
there  ;  yonder  where  the  sunbeams  wedge  themselves 
in,  constellations  of  water-lilies,  the  many-hued  iris,  and 
a  multitude  of  flowers  that  no  man  had  named  ;  here, 
too,  serpents  great  and  small,  of  wonderful  colorings, 
and  the  dull  and  loathsome  moccasin  sliding  warily  off 
the  dead  tree ;  in  dimmer  recesses  the  cow  alligator, 
with  her  nest  hard  by  ;  turtles  a  century  old  ;  owls  and 
bats,  racoons,  opossums,  rats,  centipedes  and  creatures 
of  like  vileness  ;  great  vines  of  beautiful  leaf  and  scarlet 
fruit  in  deadly  clusters  ;  maddening  mosquitoes,  para 
sitic  insects,  gorgeous  dragon-flies  and  pretty  water- 
lizards  ;  the  blue  heron,  the  snowy  crane,  the  red-bird, 
the  moss-bird,  the  night-hawk  and  the  chuckwill's 
widow ;  a  solemn  stillness  and  stifled  air  only  now  and 
then  disturbed  by  the  call  or  whir  of  the  summer  duck, 
the  dismal  ventriloquous  note  of  the  rain-crow,  or  the 
splash  of  a  dead  branch  falling  into  the  clear  but  lifeless 
bayou. 

The  pack  of  Cuban  hounds  that  howl  from  Don  Jose's 
kennels  cannot  snuff  the  trail  of  the  stolen  canoe  that 
glides  through  the  sombre  blue  vapors  of  the  African's 
fastnesses.  His  arrows  send  no  tell-tale  reverberations  to 
the  distant  clearing.  Many  a  wretch  in  his  native  wil 
derness  has  Bras-Coupe  himself,  in  palmier  days,  driven 
to  just  such  an  existence,  to  escape  the  chains  and  hor 
rors  of  the  barracoons  ;  therefore  not  a  whit  broods  he 
over  man's  inhumanity,  but,  taking  the  affair  as  a  mat 
ter  of  course,  casts  about  him  for  a  future. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE   STORY   OF   BRAS-COUPE,    CONTINUED. 

BRAS-COUPE  let  the  autumn  pass,  and  wintered  in  his 
den. 

Don  Jose,  in  a  majestic  way,  endeavored  to  be 
happy.  He  took  his  sefiora  to  his  hall,  and  under  her 
rule  it  took  on  for  a  while  a  look  and  feeling  which 
turned  it  from  a  hunting-lodge  into  a  home.  Wherever 
the  lady's  steps  turned — or  it  is  as  correct  to  say  wher 
ever  the  proud  tread  of  Palmyre  turned — the  features  of 
bachelor's  hall  disappeared  ;  guns,  dogs,  oars,  saddles, 
nets,  went  their  way  into  proper  banishment,  and  the 
broad  halls  and  lofty  chambers — the  floors  now  muffled 
with  mats  of  palmetto-leaf — no  longer  re-echoed  the 
tread  of  a  lonely  master,  but  breathed  a  redolence  of 
flowers  and  a  rippling  murmur  of  well-contented  song. 

But  the  song  was  not  from  the  throat  of  Bras-Coupe's 
"  piti  zozo."  Silent  and  severe  by  day,  she  moaned 
away  whole  nights  heaping  reproaches  upon  herself  for 
the  impulse — now  to  her,  because  it  had  failed,  inexpli 
cable  in  its  folly — which  had  permitted  her  hand  to  lie  in 
Bras-Coupe's  and  the  priest  to  bind  them  together. 

For  in  the  audacity  of  her  pride,  or,  as  Agricola  would 
have  said,  in  the  immensity  of  her  impudence,  she  had 
held  herself  consecrate  to  a  hopeless  love.  But  now  she 
was  a  black  man's  wife  !  and  even  he  unable  to  sit  at  her 


THE  STORY  OF  BRAS-COUPE,    CONTINUED.        239 

feet  and  learn  the  lesson  she  had  hoped  to  teach  him. 
She  had  heard  of  San  Domingo,  and  for  months  the 
fierce  heart  within  her  silent  bosom  had  been  leaping 
and  shouting  and  seeing  visions  of  fire  and  blood,  and 
when  she  brooded  over  the  nearness  of  Agricola  and  the 
remoteness  of  Honore  these  visions  got  from  her  a  sort 
of  mad  consent.  The  lesson  she  would  have  taught  the 
giant  was  Insurrection.  But  it  was  too  late.  Letting 
her  dagger  sleep  in  her  bosom,  and  with  an  undefined 
belief  in  imaginary  resources,  she  had  consented  to  join 
hands  with  her  giant  hero  before  the  priest ;  and  when 
the  wedding  had  come  and  gone,  like  a  white  sail,  she 
was  seized  with  a  lasting,  fierce  despair.  A  wild  aggres 
siveness  that  had  formerly  characterized  her  glance  in 
moments  of  anger — moments  which  had  grown  more 
and  more  infrequent  under  the  softening  influence  of  her 
Mademoiselle's  nature — now  came  back  intensified  and 
blazed  in  her  eye  perpetually.  Whatever  her  secret  love 
may  have  been  in  kind,  its  sinking  beyond  hope  below 
the  horizon  had  left  her  fifty  times  the  mutineer  she  had 
been  before — the  mutineer  who  has  nothing  to  lose. 

"  She  loves  her  candio"  said  the  negroes. 

"Simple  creatures!"  said  the  overseer,  who  prided 
himself  on  his  discernment,  "  she  loves  nothing ;  she 
hates  Agricola  ;  it's  a  case  of  hate  at  first  sight — the 
strongest  kind." 

Both  were  partly  right ;  her  feelings  were  wonderfully 
knit  to  the  African  ;  and  she  now  dedicated  herself  to 
Agricola's  ruin. 

The  sefior,  it  has  been  said,  endeavored  to  be  happy  ; 
but  now  his  heart  conceived  and  brought  forth  its  first 
born  fear,  sired  by  superstition — the  fear  that  he  was 
bewitched.  The  negroes  said  that  Bras-Coupe  had 


240  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

cursed  the  land.  Morning  after  morning  the  master 
looked  out  with  apprehension  toward  his  fields,  until 
one  night  the  worm  came  upon  the  indigo  and  between 
sunset  and  sunrise  every  green  leaf  had  been  eaten  up, 
and  there  was  nothing  left  for  either  insect  or  apprehen 
sion, to  feed  upon. 

And  then  he  said — and  the  echo  came  back  from  the 
Cannes  Brulees — that  the  very  bottom  culpability  of  this 
thing  rested  on  the  Grandissimes,  and  specifically  on 
their  fugleman  Agricola,  through  his  putting  the  hellish 
African  upon  him.  Moreover,  fever  and  death,  to  a  de 
gree  unknown  before,  fell  upon  his  slaves.  Those  to 
whom  life  was  spared — but  to  whom  strength  did  not  re 
turn — wandered  about  the  place  like  scarecrows,  looking 
for  shelter,  and  made  the  very  air  dismal  with  the  reitera 
tion,  "  No"  ouanga  (we  are  bewitched),  BrasConp^ fe  moi 
des grigis  (the  voudou's  spells  are  on  me)."  The  ripple 
of  song  was  hushed  and  the  flowers  fell  upon  the  floor. 

"  I  have  heard  an  English  maxim,"  wrote  Colonel  De 
Grapion  to  his  kinsman,  "  which  I  would  recommend 
you  to  put  into  practice — '  Fight  the  devil  with  fire." 

No,  he  would  not  recognize  devils  as  belligerents. 

But  if  Rome  commissioned  exorcists,  could  not  he 
employ  one  ? 

No,  he  would  not  !  If  his  hounds  could  not  catch 
Bras-Coupe,  why,  let  him  go.  The  overseer  tried  the 
hounds  once  more  and  came  home  with  the  best  one 
across  his  saddle-bow,  an  arrow  run  half  through  its  side. 

Once  the  blacks  attempted  by  certain  familiar  rum- 
pourings  and  nocturnal  charm-singing  to  lift  the  curse  ; 
but  the  moment  the  master  heard  the  wild  monotone  of 
their  infernal  worship,  he  stopped  it  with  a  word. 

Early  in  February  came  the  spring,  and  with  it  some 


THE  STORY  OF  BRAS-COUPE,   CONTINUED.        241 

resurrection  of  hope  and  courage.  It  may  have  been — 
it  certainly  was,  in  part — because  young  Honore  Gran- 
dissime  had  returned.  He  was  like  the  sun's  warmth 
wherever  he  went ;  and  the  other  Honore  was  like  his 
shadow.  The  fairer  one  quickly  saw  the  meaning  of 
these  things,  hastened  to  cheer  the  young  don  with 
hopes  of  a  better  future,  and  to  effect,  if  he  could,  the 
restoration  of  Bras-Coupe  to  his  master's  favor.  But 
this  latter  effort  was  an  idle  one.  He  had  long  sittings 
with  his  uncle  Agricola  to  the  same  end,  but  they  always 
ended  fruitless  and  often  angrily. 

His  dark  half-brother  had  seen  Palmyre  and  loved 
her.  Honore  would  gladly  have  solved  one  or  two  rid 
dles  by  effecting  their  honorable  union  in  marriage.  The 
previous  ceremony  on  the  Grandissime  back  piazza  need 
be  no  impediment ;  all  slave-owners  understood  those 
things.  Following  Honore's  advice,  the  f.  m.  c.,  who 
had  come  into  posession  of  his  paternal  portion,  sent  to 
Cannes  Brulees  a  written  offer,  to  buy  Palmyre  at  any 
price  that  her  master  might  name,  stating  his  intention 
to  free  her  and  make  her  his  wife.  Colonel  De  Grapion 
could  hardly  hope  to  settle  Palmyre's  fate  more  satisfac 
torily,  yet  he  could  not  forego  an  opportunity  to  in 
dulge  his  pride  by  following  up  the  threat  he  had  hung 
over  Agricola  to  kill  whosoever  should  give  Palmyre  to 
a  black  man.  He  referred  the  subject  and  the  would-be 
purchaser  to  him.  It  would  open  up  to  the  old  braggart  a 
line  of  retreat,  thought  the  planter  of  the  Cannes  Brulees. 

But  the  idea  of  retreat  had  left  Citizen  Fusilier. 

"  She  is  already  married,"  said  he  to  M.  Honore 
Grandissime,  f.  m.  c.  "  She  is  the  lawful  wife  of  Bras- 
Coupe  ;  and  what  God  has  joined  together  let  no  man 
put  asunder.  You  know  it,  sirrah.  You  did  this  for 


242  THE    GRANDISSI.MES. 

impudence,  to  make  a  show  of  your  wealth.  You  in 
tended  it  as  an  insinuation  of  equality.  I  overlook  the 
impertinence  for  the  sake  of  the  man  whose  white  blood 
you  carry  ;  but  h-mark  you,  if  ever  you  bring  your  Pa 
risian  airs  and  self-sufficient  face  on  a  level  with  mine 
again,  h-I  will  slap  it." 

The  quadroon,  three  nights  after,  was  so  indiscreet  as 
to  give  him  the  opportunity,  and  he  did  it — at  that 
quadroon  ball,  to  which  Dr.  Keene  alluded  in  talking  to 
Frowenfeld. 

But  Don  Jose,  we  say,  plucked  up  new  spirit. 

"  Last  year's  disasters  were  but  fortune's  freaks,"  he 
said.  "  See,  others'  crops  have  failed  all  about  us." 

The  overseer  shook  his  head. 

"  C'est  ce  maudit  cocodri'  la  bas  (It  is  that  accursed 
alligator,  Bras-Coupe,  down  yonder  in  the  swamp)." 

And  by  and  by  the  master  was  again  smitten  with  the 
same  belief.  He  and  his  neighbors  put  in  their  crops 
afresh.  The  spring  waned,  summer  passed,  the  fevers 
returned,  the  year  wore  round,  but  no  harvest  smiled. 
"  Alas  !"  cried  the  planters,  "we  are  all  poor  men!" 
The  worst  among  the  worst  were  the  fields  of  Bras- 
Coupe's  master — parched  and  shrivelled.  "  He  does 
not  understand  planting,"  said  his  neighbors  ;  "  neither 
does  his  overseer.  Maybe,  too,  it  is  true  as  he  says, 
that  he  is  voudoued." 

One  day  at  high  noon  the  master  was  taken  sick  with 
fever. 

The  third  noon  after — the  sad  wife  sitting  by  the  bed 
side — suddenly,  right  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  with 
the  open  door  behind  him,  stood  the  magnificent,  half- 
nude  form  of  Bras-Coupe.  He  did  not  fall  down  as  the 
mistress's  eyes  met  his,  though  all  his  flesh  quivered. 


THE  STORY  OF  BRAS-COUP^,   CONTINUED.        243 

The  master  was  lying  with  his  eyes  closed.  The  fever 
had  done  a  fearful  three  days'  work. 

"  Mioko-koanga  oule  so'  femme  (Bras-Coupe  wants  his 
wife)." 

The  master  started  wildly  and  stared  upon  his  slave. 

"  Bras-Coupt  onle"  so1  femme  !  "  repeated  the  black. 

"  Seize  him  !  "  cried  the  sick  man,  trying  to  rise. 

But,  though  several  servants  had  ventured  in  with 
frightened  faces,  none  dared  molest  the  giant.  The 
master  turned  his  entreating  eyes  upon  his  wife,  but 
she  seemed  stunned,  and  only  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands  and  sat  as  if  paralyzed  by  a  foreknowledge 
of  what  was  coming. 

Bras-Coupe  lifted  his  great,  black  palm  and  com 
menced  : 

"  Mo  c£  voudrai  que  la  maison  ci  la  et  tout  $a  qui  pas 
femme1  id  s'raient  encore  maudits  /  (May  this  house 
and  all  in  it  who  are  not  women  be  accursed)." 

The  master  fell  back  upon  his  pillow  with  a  groan  of 
helpless  wrath. 

The  African  pointed  his  finger  through  the  open  window. 

"  May  its  fields  not  know  the  plough  nor  nourish  the 
cattle  that  overrun  it." 

The  domestics,  who  had  thus  far  stood  their  ground, 
suddenly  rushed  from  the  room  like  stampeded  cattle, 
and  at  that  moment  appeared  Palmyre. 

"  Speak  to  him,"  faintly  cried  the  panting  invalid. 

She  went  firmly  up  to  her  husband  and  lifted  her 
hand.  With  an  easy  motion,  but  quick  as  lightning,  as 
a  lion  sets  foot  on  a  dog,  he  caught  her  by  the  arm. 

"  Bras-Coupd  oule"  so*  femme"  he  said,  and  just  then 
Palmyre  would  have  gone  with  him  to  the  equator. 

"  You  shall  not  have  her  !  "  gasped  the  master. 


244  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

The  African  seemed  to  rise  in  height,  and  still  hold 
ing  his  wife  at  arm's  length,  resumed  his  malediction  : 

"  May  weeds  cover  the  ground  until  the  air  is  full  of 
their  odor  and  the  wild  beasts  of  the  forest  come  and 
lie  down  under  their  cover." 

With  a  frantic  effort  the  master  lifted  himself  upon 
his  elbow  and  extended  his  clenched  fist  in  speechless 
defiance  ;  but  his  brain  reeled,  his  sight  went  out,  and 
when  again  he  saw,  Palmyre  and  her  mistress  were 
bending  over  him,  the  overseer  stood  awkwardly  by, 
and  Bras-Coupe  was  gone. 

The  plantation  became  an  invalid  camp.  The  words 
of  the  voudou  found  fulfilment  on  every  side.  The 
plough  went  not  out ;  the  herds  wandered  through  broken 
hedges  from  field  to  field  and  came  up  with  staring 
bones  and  shrunken  sides  ;  a  frenzied  mob  of  weeds  and 
thorns  wrestled  and  throttled  each  other  in  a  struggle 
for  standing-room — rag-weed,  smart-weed,  sneeze-weed, 
bind-weed,  iron-weed — until  the  burning  skies  of  mid 
summer  checked  their  growth  and  crowned  their  un 
shorn  tops  with  rank  and  dingy  flowers. 

"Why  in  the  name  of — St.  Francis,"  asked  the  priest 
of  the  overseer,  "  didn't  the  sefiora  use  her  power  over 
the  black  scoundrel  when  he  stood  and  cursed,  that 
day  ?  " 

"  Why,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  father,"  said  the  over 
seer,  in  a  discreet  whisper,  "  I  can  only  suppose  she 
thought  Bras-Coupe  had  half  a  right  to  do  it." 

"  Ah,  ah,  I  see ;  like  her  brother  Honore — looks  at 
both  sides  of  a  question — a  miserable  practice  ;  but 
why  couldn't  Palmyre  use  her  eyes  ?  They  would  have 
stopped  him." 

"  Palmyre  ?    Why  Palmyre  has  become  the  best  man- 


THE  STORY  OF  BRAS-COUPE,    CONTINUED.       245 

ture  (Plutonian  medium)  in  the  parish.  Agricola  Fusi 
lier  himself  is  afraid  of  her.  Sir,  I  think  sometimes 
Bras-Coupe  is  dead  and  his  spirit  has  gone  into  Pal- 
myre.  She  would  rather  add  to  his  curse  than  take  from 
it." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  jovial  divine,  with  a  fat  smile,  "cas- 
tigation  would  help  her  case  ;  the  whip  is  a  great  sanc- 
tifier.  I  fancy  it  would  even  make  a  Christian  of  the 
inexpugnable  Bras-Coupe." 

But  Bras-Coupe  kept  beyond  the  reach  alike  of  the 
lash  and  of  the  Latin  Bible. 

By  and  by  came  a  man  with  a  rumor,  whom  the  over 
seer  brought  to  the  master's  sick-room,  to  tell  that  an 
enterprising  Frenchman  was  attempting  to  produce  a 
new  staple  in  Louisiana,  one  that  worms  would  not  an 
nihilate.  It  was  that  year  of  history  when  the  despair 
ing  planters  saw  ruin  hovering  so  close  over  them  that 
they  cried  to  heaven  for  succor.  Providence  raised  up 
Etienne  de  Bore.  "  And  if  Etienne  is  successful,"  cried 
the  news-bearer,  "  and  gets  the  juice  of  the  sugar-cane 
to  crystallize,  so  shall  all  of  us,  after  him,  and  shall  yet 
save  our  lands  and  homes.  Oh,  Seiior,  it  will  make 
you  strong  again  to  see  these  fields  all  cane  and  the 
long  rows  of  negroes  and  negresses  cutting  it,  while 
they  sing  their  song  of  those  droll  African  numerals, 
counting  the  canes  they  cut,"  and  the  bearer  of  good 
tidings  sang  them  for  very  joy  : 


An  -   o  -   que,  An   -   o   -  bia,   Bia  -  tail  -   la,     Que  -  re  -  que,  Nal  -  le  .  oua, 

C=£f=         —  m  •  m    [    !*      N      S~j"Tu — *~*r   — r* — ^ —      I      |s T 


Au  -  mon-de,  Au  -  tap  -  o  -    tc,  Au  -  pa  •  to  -  t6,     Au-que  -  ro  •  qui;,  Bo. 


246  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"And  Honore*  Grandissime  is  going  to  introduce  it 
on  his  lands,"  said  Don  Jose. 

"That  is  true,"  said  Agricola  Fusilier,  coming  in. 
Honore,  the  indefatigable  peace-maker,  had  brought 
his  uncle  and  his  brother-in-law  for  the  moment  not  only 
to  speaking  but  to  friendly  terms. 

The  seflor  smiled. 

"  I  have  some  good  tidings,  too,"  he  said  ;  "  my  be 
loved  lady  has  borne  me  a  son." 

"  Another  scion  of  the  house  of  Grand 1  mean 

Martinez  !  "  exclaimed  Agricola.  "  And  now,  Don 
Jose,  let  me  say  that  /  have  an  item  of  rare  intelli 
gence  !  " 

The  don  lifted  his  feeble  head  and  opened  his  inquir 
ing  eyes  with  a  sudden,  savage  light  in  them. 

"  No,"  said  Agricola,  "  he  is  not  exactly  taken  yet, 
but  they  are  on  his  track." 

"Who?" 

"The  police.  We  may  say  he  is  virtually  in  our 
grasp." 

It  was  on  a  Sabbath  afternoon  that  a  band  of  Choc- 
taws  having  just  played  a  game  of  racquette  behind  the 
city  and  a  similar  game  being  about  to  end  between  the 
white  champions  of  two  rival  faubourgs,  the  beating  of 
tom-toms,  rattling  of  mules'  jaw-bones  and  sounding  of 
wooden  horns  drew  the  populace  across  the  fields  to  a 
spot  whose  present  name  of  Congo  Square  still  pre 
serves  a  reminder  of  its  old  barbaric  pastimes.  On  a 
grassy  plain  under  the  ramparts,  the  performers  of  these 
hideous  discords  sat  upon  the  ground  facing  each  other, 
and  in  their  midst  the  dancers  danced.  They  gyrated 
in  couples,  a  few  at  a  time,  throwing  their  bodies  into 


THE  STORY  OF  BRAS-COUPE,   CONTINUED.        247 

the  most  startling  attitudes  and  the  wildest  contortions, 
while  the  whole  company  of  black  lookers-on,  incited 
by  the  tones  of  the  weird  music  and  the  violent  postur 
ing  of  the  dancers,  swayed  and  writhed  in  passionate 
sympathy,  beating  their  breasts,  palms  and  thighs  in 
time  with  the  bones  and  drums,  and  at  frequent  inter 
vals  lifting,  in  that  wild  African  unison  no  more  to  be 
described  than  forgotten,  the  unutterable  songs  of  the 
Babouille  and  Counjaille  dances,  with  their  ejaculatory 
burdens  of  "  Aie  !  Aie  !  Voudou  Magnan  !  "  and  "  Aie 
Caliuda  !  Dance  Calinda !  "  The  volume  of  sound 
rose  and  fell  with  the  augmentation  or  diminution  of 
the  dancers'  extravagances.  Now  a  fresh  man,  young 
and  supple,  bounding  into  the  ring,  revived  the  flagging 
rattlers,  drummers  and  trumpeters  ;  now  a  wearied  dan 
cer,  finding  his  strength  going,  gathered  all  his  force  at 
the  cry  of  "  Danct  zisqiia  mart!"  rallied  to  a  grand 
finale  and  with  one  magnificent  antic,  fell,  foaming  at 
the  mouth. 

The  amusement  had  reached  its  height.  Many  parti 
cipants  had  been  lugged  out  by  the  neck  to  avoid  their 
being  danced  on,  and  the  enthusiasm  had  risen  to  a 
frenzy,  when  there  bounded  into  the  ring  the  blackest 
of  black  men,  an  athlete  of  superb  figure,  in  breeches  of 
"  Indienne  " — the  stuff  used  for  slave  women's  best 
dresses — jingling  with  bells,  his  feet  in  moccasins,  his 
tight,  crisp  hair  decked  out  with  feathers,  a  necklace  of 
alligator's  teeth  rattling  on  his  breast  and  a  living  serpent 
twined  about  his  neck. 

It  chanced  that  but  one  couple  was  dancing.  Whether 
they  had  been  sent  there  by  advice  of  Agricola  is  not 
certain.  Snatching  a  tambourine  from  a  bystander  as 
he  entered,  the  stranger  thrust  the  male  dancer  aside, 


248  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

faced  the  woman  and  began  a  series  of  saturnalian  an 
tics,  compared  with  which  all  that  had  gone  before  was 
tame  and  sluggish  ;  and  as  he  finally  leaped,  with  tink 
ling  heels,  clean  over  his  bewildered  partner's  head,  the 
multitude  howled  with  rapture. 

Ill-starred  Bras-Coupe.  He  was  in  that  extra-hazard 
ous  and  irresponsible  condition  of  mind  and  body  known 
in  the  undignified  present  as  "  drunk  again." 

By  the  strangest  fortune,  if  not,  as  we  have  just  hinted, 
by  some  design,  the  man  whom  he  had  once  deposited 
in  the  willow  bushes,  and  the  woman  Clemence,  were 
the  very  two  dancers,  and  no  other,  whom  he  had  inter 
rupted.  The  man  first  stupidly  regarded,  next  admir 
ingly  gazed  upon,  and  then  distinctly  recognized,  his 
whilom  driver.  Five  minutes  later  the  Spanish  police 
were  putting  their  heads  together  to  devise  a  quick  and 
permanent  capture  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  the  sixth  min 
ute,  as  the  wonderful  fellow  was  rising  in  a  yet  more  as 
tounding  leap  than  his  last,  a  lasso  fell  about  his  neck 
and  brought  him,  crashing  like  a  burnt  tree,  face  upward 
upon  the  turf. 

"  The  runaway  slave,"  said  the  old  French  code,  con 
tinued  in  force  by  the  Spaniards,  "the  runaway  slave 
who  shall  continue  to  be  so  for  one  month  from  the  day 
of  his  being  denounced  to  the  officers  of  justice,  shall 
have  his  ears  cut  off  and  shall  be  branded  with  the  flower 
de  luce  on  the  shoulder  ;  and  on  a  second  offence  of  the 
same  nature,  persisted  in  during  one  month  of  his  being 
denounced,  he  shall  be  hamstrung,  and  be  marked  with 
the  flower  de  luce  on  the  other  shoulder.  On  the  third 
offence  he  shall  die."  Bras-Coupe  had  run  away  only 
twice.  "  But,"  said  Agricola,  "  these  '  bossals  '  must  be 
taught  their  place.  Besides,  there  is  Article  27  of  the 


THE  STORY  OF  BRAS-COUPE,   CONTINUED.       249 

same  code  :  '  The  slave  who,  having  struck  his  master, 
shall  have  produced  a  bruise,  shall  suffer  capital  punish 
ment  ' — a  very  necessary  law  !  "  He  concluded  with  a 
scowl  upon  Palmyre,  who  shot  back  a  glance  which  he 
never  forgot. 

The  Spaniard  showed  himself  very  merciful — for  a 
Spaniard  ;  he  spared  the  captive's  life.  He  might  have 
been  more  merciful  still ;  but  Honore  Grandissime  said 
some  indignant  things  in  the  African's  favor,  and  as 
much  to  teach  the  Grandissimes  a  lesson  as  to  punish 
the  runaway,  he  would  have  repented  his  clemency,  as 
he  repented  the  momentary  truce  with  Agricola,  but  for 
the  tearful  pleading  of  the  seftora  and  the  hot,  dry  eyes 
of  her  maid.  Because  of  these  he  overlooked  the  offence 
against  his  person  and  estate,  and  delivered  Bras-Coupe 
to  the  law  to  suffer  only  the  penalties  of  the  crime  he  had 
committed  against  society  by  attempting  to  be  a  free  man. 

We  repeat  it  for  the  credit  of  Palmyre,  that  she  pleaded 
for  Bras-Coupe.  But  what  it  cost  her  to  make  that  in 
tercession,  knowing  that  his  death  would  leave  her  free, 
and  that  if  he  lived  she  must  be  his  wife,  let  us  not 
attempt  to  say. 

In  the  midst  of  the  ancient  town,  in  a  part  which  is 
now  crumbling  away,  stood  the  Calaboza,  with  its  humid 
vaults,  grated  cells,  iron  cages  and  its  whips  ;  and  there, 
soon  enough,  they  strapped  Bras-Coupe  face  downward 
and  laid  on  the  lash.  And  yet  not  a  sound  came  from 
the  mutilated  but  unconquered  African  to  annoy  the  ear 
of  the  sleeping  city. 

("  And  you  suffered  this  thing  to  take  place  ?  "  asked 
Joseph  Frowenfeld  of  Honore  Grandissime. 

"  My-de'-seh  !  "  exclaimed  the  Creole,  "  they  lied  to 
me — said  they  would  not  harm  him  !  ") 


2$0  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

He  was  brought  at  sunrise  to  the  plantation.  The  air 
was  sweet  with  the  smell  of  the  weed-grown  fields.  The 
long-horned  oxen  that  drew  him  and  the  naked  boy  that 
drove  the  team  stopped  before  his  cabin. 

"  You  cannot  put  that  creature  in  there,"  said  the 
thoughtful  overseer.  "  He  would  suffocate  under  a  roof — 
he  has  been  too  long  out-of-doors  for  that.  Put  him  on 
my  cottage  porch."  There,  at  last,  Palmyre  burst  into 
tears  and  sank  down,  while  before  her  on  a  soft  bed  of  dry 
grass,  rested  the  helpless  form  of  the  captive  giant,  a  cloth 
thrown  over  his  galled  back,  his  ears  shorn  from  his 
head,  and  the  tendons  behind  his  knees  severed.  His 
eyes. were  dry,  but  there  was  in  them  that  unspeakable 
despair  that  fills  the  eye  of  the  charger  when,  fallen  in 
battle,  he  gazes  with  sidewise-bended  neck  upon  the 
ruin  wrought  upon  him.  His  eye  turned  sometimes 
slowly  to  his  wife.  He  need  not  demand  her  now — she 
was  always  by  him. 

There  was  much  talk  over  him — much  idle  talk ;  no 
power  or  circumstance  has  ever  been  found  that  will 
keep  a  Creole  from  talking.  He  merely  lay  still  under 
it  with  a  fixed  frown  ;  but  once  some  incautious  tongue 
dropped  the  name  of  Agricola.  The  black  man's  eyes 
came  so  quickly  round  to  Palmyre  that  she  thought  he 
would  speak ;  but  no ;  his  words  were  all  in  his  eyes. 
She  answered  their  gleam  with  a  fierce  affirmative  glance, 
whereupon  he  slowly  bent  his  head  and  spat  upon  the 
floor. 

There  was  yet  one  more  trial  of  his  wild  nature.  The 
mandate  came  from  his  master's  sick-bed  that  he  must 
lift  the  curse. 

Bras-Coupe  merely  smiled.  God  keep  thy  enemy 
from  such  a  smile ! 


THE  STORY  OF  BRAS-COUPE,    CONTINUED.       2$ I 

The  overseer,  with  a  policy  less  Spanish  than  his  mas 
ter's,  endeavored  to  use  persuasion.  But  the  fallen 
prince  would  not  so  much  as  turn  one  glance  from  his 
parted  hamstrings.  Palmyre  was  then  besought  to  inter 
cede.  She  made  one  poor  attempt,  but  her  husband 
was  nearer  doing  her  an  unkindness  than  ever  he  had 
been  before  ;  he  made  a  slow  sign  for  silence — with  his 
fist ;  and  every  mouth  was  stopped. 

At  midnight  following,  there  came,  on  the  breeze  that 
blew  from  the  mansion,  a  sound  of  running  here  and 
there,  of  wailing  and  sobbing — another  Bridegroom  was 
coming,  and  the  Spaniard,  with  much  such  a  lamp  in 
hand  as  most  of  us  shall  be  found  with,  neither  burning 
brightly  nor  wholly  gone  out,  went  forth  to  meet  Him. 

"  Bras-Coupe,"  said  Palmyre,  next  evening,  speaking 
low  in  his  mangled  ear,  "  the  master  is  dead  ;  he  is  just 
buried.  As  he  was  dying,  Bras-Coupe,  he  asked  that 
you  would  forgive  him." 

The  maimed  man  looked  steadfastly  at  his  wife.  He 
had  not  spoken  since  the  lash  struck  him,  and  he  spoke 
not  now ;  but  in  those  large,  clear  eyes,  where  his  re 
maining  strength  seemed  to  have  taken  refuge  as  in  a 
citadel,  the  old  fierceness  flared  up  for  a  moment,  and 
then,  like  an  expiring  beacon,  went  out. 

"  Is  your  mistress  well  enough  by  this  time  to  venture 
here?"  whispered  the  overseer  to  Palmyre.  "  Let  her 
come.  Tell  her  not  to  fear,  but  to  bring  the  babe — in 
her  own  arms,  tell  her- — quickly  !  " 

The  lady  came,  her  infant  boy  in  her  arms,  knelt  down 
beside  the  bed  of  sweet  grass  and  set  the  child  within 
the  hollow  of  the  African's  arm.  Bras-Coupe  turned 
his  gaze  upon  it ;  it  smiled,  its  mother's  smile,  and  put 
its  hand  upon  the  runaway's  face,  and  the  first  tears  of 


252  THE    GRAND1SSIMES. 

Bras-Coupe's  life,  the  dying  testimony  of  his  humanity, 
gushed  from  his  eyes  and  rolled  down  his  cheek  upon 
the  infant's  hand.  He  laid  his  own  tenderly  upon  the 
babe's  forehead,  then  removing  it,  waved  it  abroad,  inau- 
dibly  moved  his  lips,  dropped  his  arm,  and  closed  his 
eyes.  The  curse  was  lifted. 

"  Lc  pauv  dgiab1  !  "  said  the  overseer,  wiping  his 
eyes  and  looking  fieldward.  "  Palmyre,  you  must  get 
the  priest." 

The  priest  came,  in  the  identical  gown  in  which  he 
had  appeared  the  night  of  the  two  weddings.  To  the 
good  father's  many  tender  questions  Bras-Coupe  turned 
a  failing  eye  that  gave  no  answers  ;  until,  at  length  : 

"Do  you  know  where  you  are  going?"  asked  the 
holy  man. 

"  Yes,"  answered  his  eyes,  brightening. 

"Where?" 

He  did  not  reply  ;  he  was  lost  in  contemplation,  and 
seemed  looking  far  away. 

So  the  question  was  repeated. 

"  Do  you  know  where  you  are  going  ?  " 

And  again  the  answer  of  the  eyes.     He  knew. 

"Where?" 

The  overseer  at  the  edge  of  the  porch,  the  widow  with 
her  babe,  and  Palmyre  and  the  priest  bending  over  the 
dying  bed,  turned  an  eager  ear  to  catch  the  answer. 

"To — '  the  voice  failed  a  moment;  the  departing 
hero  essayed  again  ;  again  it  failed  ;  he  tried  once  more, 
lifted  his  hand,  and  with  an  ecstatic,  upward  smile,  whis 
pered,  "  To — Africa" — and  was  gone. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

PARALYSIS. 

As  we  have  said,  the  story  of  Bras-Coupe  was  told 
that  day  three  times :  to  the  Grandissime  beauties  once, 
to  Frowenfeld  twice.  The  fair  Grandissimes  all  agreed, 
at  the  close,  that  it  was  pitiful.  Specially,  that  it  was  a 
great  pity  to  have  hamstrung  Bras-Coupe,  a  man  who 
even  in  his  cursing  had  made  an  exception  in  favor  of 
the  ladies.  True,  they  could  suggest  no  alternative  ;  it 
was  undeniable  that  he  had  deserved  his  fate  ;  still,  it 
seemed  a  pity.  They  dispersed,  retired  and  went  to 
sleep  confirmed  in  this  sentiment.  In  Frowenfeld  the 
story  stirred  deeper  feelings.  . 

On  this  same  day,  while  it  was  still  early  morning, 
Honore  Grandissime,  f.  m.  c.,  with  more  than  even  his 
wonted  slowness  of  step  and  propriety  of  rich  attire,  had 
reappeared  in  the  shop  of  the  rue  Royale.  He  did  not 
need  to  say  he  desired  another  private  interview. 
Frowenfeld  ushered  him  silently  and  at  once  into  his 
rear  room,  offered  him  a  chair  (which  he  accepted),  and 
sat  down  before  him. 

In  his  labored  way  the  quadroon  stated  his  knowledge 
that  Frowenfeld  had  been  three  times  to  the  dwelling 
of  Palmyre  Philosophe.  Why,  he  further  intimated, 
he  knew  not,  nor  would  he  ask  ;  but  he — when  he  had 
applied  for  admission — had  been  refused.  He  had  laid 


254  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

open  his  heart  to  the  apothecary's  eyes — "  It  may  have 
been  unwisely — 

Frowenfeld  interrupted  him  ;  Palmyre  had  been  ill  for 
several  days  ;  Doctor  Keene — who,  Mr.  Grandissime 
probably  knew,  was  her  physician — 

The  landlord  bowed,  and  Frowenfeld  went  on  to  ex 
plain  that  Doctor  Keene,  while  attending  her,  had  also 
fallen  sick  and  had  asked  him  to  take  the  care  of  this  one 
case  until  he  could  himself  resume  it.  So  there,  in  a 
word,  was  the  reason  why  Joseph  had,  and  others  had 
not,  been  admitted  to  her  presence. 

As  obviously  to  the  apothecary's  eyes  as  anything 
intangible  could  be,  a  load  of  suffering  was  lifted  from 
the  quadroon's  mind,  as  this  explanation  was  concluded. 
Yet  he  only  sat  in  meditation  before  his  tenant,  who  re 
garded  him  long  and  sadly.  Then,  seized  with  one  of 
his  energetic  impulses,  he  suddenly  said  : 

"Mr.  Grandissime,  you  are  a  man  of  intelligence,  ac 
complishments,  leisure  and  wealth;  why"  (clenching 
his  fists  and  frowning),  "  why  do  you  not  give  yourself — 
your  time — wealth — attainments — energies — everything 
— to  the  cause  of  the  down-trodden  race  with  which 
this  community's  scorn  unjustly  compels  you  to  rank 
yourself?  " 

The  quadroon  did  not  meet  Frowenfeld's  kindled  eyes 
for  a  moment,  and  when  he  did,  it  was  slowly  and 
dejectedly. 

"  He  canno'  be,"  he  said,  and  then,  seeing  his  words 
were  not  understood,  he  added:  "He  'ave  no  Cause. 
Dad  peop'  'ave  no  Cause."  He  went  on  from  this  with 
many  pauses  and  gropings  after  words  and  idiom,  to 
tell  with  a  plaintiveness  that  seemed  to  Frowenfeld 
almost  unmanly,  the  reasons  why  the  people,  a  little  of 


PARALYSIS.  255 

whose  blood  had  been  enough  to  blast  his  life,  would 
never  be  free  by  the  force  of  their  own  arm.  Reduced 
to  the  meanings  which  he  vainly  tried  to  convey  in 
words,  his  statement  was  this  :  that  that  people  was  not 
a  people.  Their  cause — was  in  Africa.  They  upheld 
it  there — they  lost  it  there — and  to  those  that  are  here 
the  struggle  was  over  ;  they  were,  one  and  all,  prisoners 
of  war. 

"  You  speak  of  them  in  the  third  person,"  said 
Frowenfeld. 

"  Ah  ham  nod  a  slev." 

"  Are  you  certain  of  that  ?  "  asked  the  tenant. 

His  landlord  looked  at  him. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Frowenfeld,  "  that  you — your 
class — the  free  quadroons — are  the  saddest  slaves  of  all. 
Your  men,  for  a  little  property,  and  your  women,  for  a 
little  amorous  attention,  let  themselves  be  shorn  even 
of  the  virtue  of  discontent,  and  for  a  paltry  bait  of  sham 
freedom  have  consented  to  endure  a  tyrannous  con 
tumely  which  flattens  them  into  the  dirt  like  grass  under 
a  slab.  I  would  rather  be  a  runaway  in  the  swamps 
than  content  myself  with  such  a  freedom.  As  your  class 
stands  before  the  world  to-day — free  in  form  but  slaves 
in  spirit — you  are — I  do  not  know  but  I  was  almost 
ready  to  say — a  warning  to  philanthropists  !  " 

The  free  man  of  color  slowly  arose. 

"  I  trust  you  know,"  said  Frowenfeld,  "  that  I  say 
nothing  in  offence." 

"  Havery  word  is  tru',"  replied  the  sad  man. 

"  Mr.  Grandissime,"  said  the  apothecary,  as  his  land 
lord  sank  back  again  into  his  seat,  "  I  know  you  are  a 
broken-hearted  man." 

The  quadroon  laid  his  fist  upon  his  heart  and  looked  up. 


256  THE    GRAND1SSIMES. 

"  And  being  broken-hearted,  you  are  thus  specially 
fitted  for  a  work  of  patient  and  sustained  self-sacrifice. 
You  have  only  those  things  to  lose  which  grief  has 
taught  you  to  despise — ease,  money,  display.  Give 
yourself  to  your  people — to  those,  I  mean,  who  groan, 
or  should  groan,  under  the  degraded  lot  which  is  theirs 
and  yours  in  common." 

The  quadroon  shook  his  head,  and  after  a  moment's 
silence,  answered  : 

"  Ah  canned  be  one  Toussaint  1'Ouverture.  Ah  can- 
nod  trah  to  be.  Hiv  I  trah,  I  h-only  s'all  soogceed  to 
be  one  Bras-Coupe." 

"You  entirely  misunderstand  me,"  said  Frowenfcld 
in  quick  response.  "  I  have  no  stronger  disbelief  than 
my  disbelief  in  insurrection.  I  believe  that  to  every 
desirable  end  there  are  two  roads,  the  way  of  strife  and 
the  way  of  peace.  I  can  imagine  a  man  in  your  place, 
going  about  among  his  people,  stirring  up  their  minds 
to  a  noble  discontent,  laying  out  his  means,  sparingly 
here  and  bountifully  there,  as  in  each  case  might  seem 
wisest,  for  their  enlightenment,  their  moral  elevation, 
their  training  in  skilled  work  ;  going,  too,  among  the 
men  of  the  prouder  caste,  among  such  as  have  a  spirit 
of  fairness,  and  seeking  to  prevail  with  them  for  a  pub 
lic  recognition  of  the  rights  of  all ;  using  all  his  cunning 
to  show  them  the  double  damage  of  all  oppression,  both 
great  and  petty " 

The    quadroon    motioned    "enough."     There    was  aj 
heat   in   his    eyes   which    Frowenfeld   had    never   seen 
before. 

"  M'sieu',"  he  said,  "  waid  till  Agricola  Fusilier  ees 
keel." 

"  Do  you  mean  '  dies  '  ?  " 


PARALYSIS.  257 

"  No,"  insisted  the  quadroon;  "listen."  And  with 
slow,  painstaking  phrase  this  man  of  strong  feeling  and 
feeble  will  (the  trait  of  his  caste)  told — as  Frowenfeld' 
felt  he  would  do  the  moment  he  said  "  listen  " — such 
part  of  the  story  of  Bras-Coupe  as  showed  how  he  came 
by  his  deadly  hatred  of  Agricola. 

"Tale  me,"  said  the  landlord,  as  he  concluded  the 
recital,  "  w'y  deen  Bras-Coupe  mague  dad  curze  on 
Agricola  Fusilier  ?  Becoze  Agricola  ees  one  sorcier  ! 
Elz  'e  bid  dade  sinz  long  tamm." 

The  speaker's  gestures  seemed  to  imply  that  his  own 
hand,  if  need  be,  would  have  brought  the  event  to  pass. 

As  he  rose  to  say  adieu,  Frowenfeld,  without  previous 
intention,  laid  a  hand  upon  his  visitor's  arm. 

"  Is  there  no  one  who  can  make  peace  between 
you  ?  " 

The  landlord  shook  his  head. 

"  'Tis  impossib'  ;  we  don'  wand." 

"  I  mean,"  insisted  Frowenfeld,  "  is  there  no  man 
who  can  stand  between  you  and  those  who  wrong  you, 
and  effect  a  peaceful  reparation  ?  " 

The  landlord  slowly  moved  away,  neither  he  nor  his 
tenant  speaking,  but  each  knowing  that  the  one  man  in 
the  minds  of  both,  as  a  possible  peace-maker,  was 
Honore  Grandissime. 

"Should  the  opportunity  offer,"  continued  Joseph, 
"  may  I  speak  a  word  for  you  myself?  " 

The  quadroon  paused  a  moment,  smiled  politely 
though  bitterly,  and  departed  repeating  again  : 

"  'Tis  impossib'.     We  don'  wand." 

"  Palsied,"  murmured  Frowenfeld,  looking  after  him, 
regretfully, — "  like  all  of  them." 

Frowenfeld's  thoughts  were   still  on  the  same  theme 


258  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

when,  the  day  having  passed,  the  hour  was  approach 
ing  wherein  Raoul  Innerarity  was  exhorted  to  tell  his 
good-night  story  in  the  merry  circle  at  the  distant  Gran- 
dissime  mansion.  As  the  apothecary  was  closing  his  last 
door  for  the  night,  the  fairer  Honor6  called  him  out  into 
the  moonlight. 

"  Withered,"  the  student  was  saying  audibly  to  him 
self,  "  not  in  the  shadow  of  the  Ethiopian,  but  in  the 
glare  of  the  white  man." 

"  Who  is  with-e'd  ?  "  pleasantly  demanded  Honore. 

The  apothecary  started  slightly. 

"  Did  I  speak?  How  do  you  do,  sir  ?  I  meant  the 
free  quadroons." 

"  Including  the  gentleman  frhom  whom  you  rhent  yo' 
sto'  ?  " 

"Yes,  him  especially  ;  he  told  me  this  morning  the 
story  of  Bras-Coupe." 

M.  Grandissime  laughed.  Joseph  did  not  see  why, 
nor  did  the  laugh  sound  entirely  genuine. 

"  Do  not  open  yo'  do',  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,"  said  the 
Creole.  "  Get  yo'  grheat  coat  and  cane  and  come  take 
a  walk  with  me  ;  I  will  tell  you  the  same  storhy." 

It  was  two  hours  before  they  approached  this  door 
again  on  their  return.  Just  before  they  reached  it, 
Honore  stopped  under  the  huge  street  lamp,  whose 
light  had  gone  out,  where  a  large  stone  lay  before  him 
on  the  ground  in  the  narrow,  moonlit  street.  There  was 
a  tall,  unfinished  building  at  his  back. 

"  Mr.  Frhowenfeld," — he  struck  the  stone  with  his 
cane, — "  this  stone  is  Brhas-Coupe — we  cast  it  aside  be 
cause  it  turns  the  edge  of  ow  tools." 

He  laughed.  He  had  laughed  to-night  more  than 
was  comfortable  to  a  man  of  Frowcnfeld's  quiet  mind. 


PARALYSIS.  259 

As  the  apothecary  thrust  his  shop-key  into  the  lock 
and  so  paused  to  hear  his  companion,  who  had  begun 
again  to  speak,  he  wondered  what  it  could  be — for  M. 
Grandissime  had  not  disclosed  it — that  induced  such  a 
man  as  he  to  roam  aimlessly,  as  it  seemed,  in  deserted 
streets  at  such  chill  and  dangerous  hours.  "  What  does 
he  want  with  me  ?  "  The  thought  was  so  natural  that 
it  was  no  miracle  the  Creole  read  it. 

"  Well, "said  he,  smiling  and  taking  an  attitude,  "  you 
are-h  a  grheat  man  fo'  causes,  Mr.  Frhowenfeld  ;  but 
me,  I  am  fo'  rhesults,  ha,  ha  !  You  may  pondeh  the 
philosophy  of  Brhas-Coupe  in  yo'  study,  but  /have  got 
to  get  rhid  of  his  rhesults,  me.  You  know  them." 

"  You  tell  me  it  revived  a  war  where  you  had  made  a 
peace,"  said  Frowenfeld. 

"Yes — yes— that  is  his  rhesults;  but  good-night,  Mr. 
Frhowenfeld." 

"Good-night,  sir." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

ANOTHER   WOUND   IN   A   NEW   PLACE. 

EACH  day  found  Doctor  Keene's  strength  increasing, 
and  on  the  morning  following  the  incidents  last  recorded 
he  was  imprudently  projecting  an  out-door  promenade. 
An  announcement  from  Honore  Grandissime,  who  had 
paid  an  early  call,  had,  to  that  gentleman's  no  small 
surprise,  produced  a  sudden  and  violent  effect  on  the 
little  man's  temper. 

He  was  sitting  alone  by  his  window,  looking  out 
upon  the  levee,  when  the  apothecary  entered  the  apart 
ment. 

"  Frowenfeld,"  he  instantly  began,  with  evident  dis 
pleasure  most  unaccountable  to  Joseph,  "  I  hear  you 
have  been  visiting  the  Nancanous." 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  there." 

"  Well,  you  had  no  business  to  go  !  " 

Doctor  Keene  smote  the  arm  of  his  chair  with  his 
fist. 

Frowenfeld  reddened  with  indignation,  but  suppressed 
his  retort.  He  stood  still  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
and  Doctor  Keene  looked  out  of  the  window. 

"  Doctor  Keene,"  said  the  visitor,  when  this  attitude 
was  no  longer  tolerable,  "  have  you  anything  more  to 
say  to  me  before  I  leave  you  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 


ANOTHER    WOUND   IN  A    NEW  PLACE.  26 1 

"It  is  necessary  for  me,  then,  to  say  that  in  fulfil 
ment  of  my  promise,  I  am  going  from  here  to  the  house 
of  Palmyre,  and  that  she  will  need  no  further  attention 
after  to-day.  As  to  your  present  manner  toward  me,  I 
shall  endeavor  to  suspend  judgment  until  I  have  some 
knowledge  of  its  cause." 

The  doctor  made  no  reply,  but  went  on  looking  out 
of  the  window,  and  Frowenfeld  turned  and  left  him. 

As  he  arrived  in  the  Philosophe's  sick-chamber — 
where  he  found  her  sitting  in  a  chair  set  well  back  from 
a  small  fire — she  half  whispered  "  Mich£  "  with  a  fine, 
greeting  smile,  as  if  to  a  brother  after  a  week's  absence. 
To  a  person  forced  to  lie  abed,  shut  away  from  occupa 
tion  and  events,  a  day  is  ten,  three  are  a  month  :  not 
merely  in  the  wear  and  tear  upon  the  patience,  but  also 
in  the  amount  of  thinking  and  recollecting  done.  It 
was  to  be  expected,  then,  that  on  this,  the  apothecary's 
fourth  visit,  Palmyre  would  have  learned  to  take  pleasure 
in  his  coming. 

But  the  smile  was  followed  by  a  faint,  momentary 
frown,  as  if  Frowenfeld  had  hardly  returned  it  in  kind. 
Likely  enough,  he  had  not.  He  was  not  distinctively  a 
man  of  smiles  ;  and  as  he  engaged  in  his  appointed  task 
fshe  presently* thought  of  this. 

"This  wound  is  doing  so  well,"  said  Joseph,  still  en 
gaged  with  the  bandages,  "  that  I  shall  not  need  to 
come  again."  He  was  not  looking  at  her  as  he  spoke, 
but  he  felt  her  give  a  sudden  start.  "  What  is  this  ?  "  he 
thought,  but  presently  said  very  quietly  :  "  With  the  as 
sistance  of  your  slave  woman,  you  can  now  attend  to 
it  yourself." 
•  She  made  no  answer. 

When,  with  a  bow,  he  would  have  bade  her  good- 


262  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

morning,  she  held  out  her  hand  for  his.  After  a  barely 
perceptible  hesitation,  he  gave  it,  whereupon  she  held  it 
fast,  in  a  way  to  indicate  that  there  was  something  to  be 
said  which  he  must  stay  and  hear. 

She  looked  up  into  his  face.  She  may  have  been 
merely  framing  in  her  mind  the  word  or  two  of  English 
she  was  about  to  utter  ;  but  an  excitement  shone  through 
her  eyes  and  reddened  her  lips,  and  something  sent  out 
from  her  countenance  a  look  of  wild  distress. 

"  You  goin'  tell  'im  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Who?     Agricola?" 

"Nan/" 

He  spoke  the  next  name  more  softly. 

"  Honore  ?  " 

Her  eyes  looked  deeply  into  his  for  a  moment,  then 
dropped,  and  she  made  a  sign  of  assent. 

He  was  about  to  say  that  Honore  knew  already,  but 
saw  no  necessity  for  doing  so,  and  changed  his  answer. 

"  I  will  never  tell  any  one." 

"  You  know  ?  "  she  asked,  lifting  her  eyes  for  an  in 
stant.  She  meant  to  ask  if  he  knew  the  motive  that 
had  prompted  her  murderous  intent. 

"  I  know  your  whole  sad  history." 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  fixedly ;  then,  still 
holding  his  hand  with  one  of  hers,  she  threw  the  other 
to  her  face  and  turned  away  her  head.  He  thought  she 
moaned. 

Thus  she  remained  for  a  few  moments,  then  suddenly 
she  turned,  clasped  both  hands  about  his,  her  face 
flamed  up  and  she  opened  her  lips  to  speak,  but  speech 
failed.  An  expression  of  pain  and  supplication  came 
upon  her  countenance,  and  the  cry  burst  from  her : 

"  Meg  'im  to  love  me  !  " 


ANOTHER    WOUND   IN  A   NEW  PLACE.  263 

He  tried  to  withdraw  his  hand,  but  she  held  it  fast, 
and,  looking  up  imploringly  with  her  wide,  electric  eyes, 
cried  : 

"  Vous  pouvez  le  faire,  vous  pouvez  le  faire  (you  can 
do  it,  you  can  do  it)  ;  vous  ctes  sorcier,  mo  conne"  bien 
vous  ctes  sorcier  (you  are  a  sorcerer,  I  know)." 

However  harmless  or  healthful  Joseph's  touch  might 
be  to  the  Philosophe,  he  felt  now  that  hers,  to  him,  was 
poisonous.  He  dared  encounter  her  eyes,  her  touch, 
her  voice,  no  longer.  The  better  man  in  him  was  suffo 
cating.  He  scarce  had  power  left  to  liberate  his  right 
hand  with  his  left,  to  seize  his  hat  and  go. 

Instantly  she  rose  from  her  chair,  threw  herself  on 
her  knees  in  his  path,  and  found  command  of  his  lan 
guage  sufficient  to  cry  as  she  lifted  her  arms,  bared  of 
their  drapery  : 

"  Oh,  my  God  !  don'  rif-used  me — don'  rif-used  me  !  " 

There  was  no  time  to  know  whether  Frowenfeld  wav 
ered  or  not.  The  thought  flashed  into  his  mind  that  in 
all  probability  all  the  care  and  skill  he  had  spent  upon 
the  wound  was  being  brought  to  naught  in  this  moment 
of  wild  posturing  and  excitement ;  but  before  it  could 
have  effect  upon  his  movements,  a  stunning  blow  fell 
upon  the  back  of  his  head,  and  Palmyre's  slave  woman, 
the  Congo  dwarf,  under  the  impression  that  it  was  the 
most  timely  of  strokes,  stood  brandishing  a  billet  of  pine 
and  preparing  to  repeat  the  blow. 

He  hurled  her,  snarling  and  gnashing  like  an  ape, 
against  the  farther  wall,  cast  the  bar  from  the  street- 
door  and  plunged  out,  hatless,  bleeding,  and  stunned. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

INTERRUPTED    PRELIMINARIES. 

ABOUT  the  same  time  of  day,  three  gentlemen  (we 
use  the  term  gentlemen  in  its  petrified  state)  were  walk 
ing  down  the  rue  Royale  from  the  direction  of  the  Fau 
bourg  Ste.  Marie. 

They  were  coming  down  toward  Palmyre's  corner. 
The  middle  one,  tall  and  shapely,  might  have  been  mis 
taken  at  first  glance  for  Honore  Grandissime,  but  was 
taller  and  broader,  and  wore  a  cocked  hat,  which  Ho 
nore  did  not.  It  was  Valentine.  The  short,  black- 
bearded  man  in  buckskin  breeches  on  his  right  was  Jean- 
Baptiste  Grandissime,  and  the  slight  one  on  the  left, 
who,  with  the  prettiest  and  most  graceful  gestures  and 
balancings,  was  leading  the  conversation,  was  Hippolyte 
Brahmin-Mandarin,  a  cousin  and  counterpart  of  that 
sturdy-hearted  challenger  of  Agricola,  Sylvestre. 

"  But  after  all,"  he  was  saying  in  Louisiana  French, 
"  there  is  no  spot  comparable,  for  comfortable  seclusion, 
to  the  old  orange  grove  under  the  levee  on  the  Point ; 
twenty  minutes  in  a  skiff,  five  minutes  for  preliminaries 
— you  would  not  want  more,  the  ground  has  been  meas 
ured  off  five  hundred  times — '  are  you  ready  ?  '- 

"Ah,  bah!"  said  Valentine,  tossing  his  head,  "the 
Yankees  would  be  down  on  us  before  you  could  count 
one." 


INTERRUPTED   PRELIMINARIES.  265 

"Well,  then,  behind  the  Jesuits'  warehouses,  if  you 
insist.  I  don't  care.  Perdition  take  such  a  govern 
ment  !  I  am  almost  sorry  I  went  to  the  governor's  re 
ception." 

"  It  was  quiet,  I  hear;  a  sort  of  quiet  ball,  all  prome 
nading  and  no  contra-dances.  One  quadroon  ball  is 
worth  five  of  such." 

This  was  the  opinion  of  Jean-Baptiste. 

*'  No,  it  was  fine,  anyhow.  There  was  a  contra-dance. 
The  music  was — tarata  joonc,  tara,  tara — ta  ta  joonc, 
tararata  joonc,  tara — oh  !  it  was  the  finest  thing — and 
composed  here.  They  compose  as  fine  things  here  as 

they  do  anywhere  in  the look  there  !  That  man 

came  out  of  Palmyre's  house ;  see  how  he  staggered 
just  then  !  " 

"  Drunk,"  said  Jean-Baptiste. 

"  No,  he  seems  to  be  hurt.  He  has  been  struck  on 
the  head.  Oho,  I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  that  same  Pal- 
myre  is  a  wonderful  animal  !  Do  you  see  ?  She  not 
only  defends  herself  and  ejects  the  wretch,  but  she  puts 
her  mark  upon  him  ;  she  identifies  him,  ha,  ha,  ha ! 
Look  at  the  high  art  of  the  thing  ;  she  keeps  his  hat  as 
a  small  souvenir  and  gives  him  a  receipt  for  it  on  the 
back  of  his  head.  Ah  !  but  hasn't  she  taught  him  a 
lesson  ?  Why,  gentlemen, — it  is — if  it  isn't  that  sor 
cerer  of  an  apothecary  !  " 

"  What  ?  "  exclaimed  the  other  two  ;  "  well,  well,  but 
this  is  too  good  !  Caught  at  last,  ha,  ha,  ha,  the  saintly 
villain  !  Ah,  ha,  ha  !  Will  not  Honore  be  proud  of 
him  now  ?  Ah!  voila  un  jolt  Joseph  !  What  did  I  tell 
you  ?  Didn't  I  always  tell  you  so  ?  " 

"But  the  beauty  of  it  is,  he  is  caught  so  cleverly. 
No  escape — no  possible  explanation.  There  he  is, 


266  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

gentlemen,  as  plain  as  a  rat  in  a  barrel,  and  with  as  plain 
a  case.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Isn't  it  just  glorious  ?  " 

And  all  three  laughed  in  such  an  ecstacy  of  glee  that 
Frowenfeld  looked  back,  saw  them,  and  knew  forthwith 
that  his  good  name  was  gone.  The  three  gentlemen, 
with  tears  of  merriment  still  in  their  eyes,  reached  a 
corner  and  disappeared. 

"  Mister,"  said  a  child,  trotting  along  under  Frowen- 
feld's  elbow, — the  odd  English  of  the  New  Orleans 
street-urchin  was  at  that  day  just  beginning  to  be  heard 
— "  Mister,  dey  got  some  blood  on  de  back  of  you' 
hade  !  " 

But  Frowenfeld  hurried  on  groaning  with  mental  an 
guish. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

UNKINDEST   CUT   OF  ALL. 

IT  was  the  year  1804.  The  world  was  trembling 
under  the  tread  of-  the  dread  Corsican.  It  was  but  now 
that  he  had  tossed  away  the  whole  Valley  of  the  Missis 
sippi,  dropping  it  overboard  as  a  little  sand  from  a 
balloon,  and  Christendom  in  a  pale  agony  of  suspense 
was  watching  the  turn  of  his  eye  ;  yet  when  a  gibber 
ing  black  fool  here  on  the  edge  of  civilization  merely 
swings  a  pine-knot,  the  swinging  of  that  pine-knot  be 
comes  to  Joseph  Frowenfeld,  student  of  man,  a  matter 
of  greater  moment  than  the  destination  of  the  Boulogne 
Flotilla.  For  it  now  became  for  the  moment  the  fore 
most  necessity  of  his  life  to  show,  to  that  minute  frac 
tion  of  the  earth's  population  which  our  terror  mis 
names  "the  world,"  that  a  man  may  leap  forth  hatless 
and  bleeding  from  the  house  of  a  New  Orleans  quad 
roon  into  the  open  street  and  yet  be  pure  white  within. 
Would  it  answer  to  tell  the  truth  ?  Parts  of  that  truth 
he  was  pledged  not  to  tell ;  and  even  if  he  could  tell  it 
all  it  was  incredible — bore  all  the  features  of  a  flimsy 
lie. 

"  Mister,"  repeated  the  same  child  who  had  spoken 
before,  reinforced  by  another  under  the  other  elbow, 
"  dey  got  some  blood  on  de  back  of  you'  hade." 

And  the  other  added  the  suggestion  : 


268  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  Dey  got  one  drug-sto',  yondah." 

Frowenfeld  groaned  again.  The  knock  had  been  a 
hard  one,  the  ground  and  sky  went  round  not  a  little, 
but  he  retained  withal  a  white-hot  process  of  thought 
that  kept  before  him  his  hopeless  inability  to  explain. 
He  was  coffined  alive.  The  world  (so-called)  would 
bury  him  in  utter  loathing,  and  write  on  his  head-stone 
the  one  word — hypocrite.  And  he  should  lie  there  and 
helplessly  contemplate  Honore  pushing  forward  those 
purposes  which  he  had  begun  to  hope  he  was  to  have 
had  the  honor  of  furthering.  But  instead  of  so  doing 
he  would  now  be  the  by-word  of  the  street. 

"  Mister,"  interposed  the  child  once  more,  spokesman 
this  time  for  a  dozen  blacks  and  whites  of  all  sizes  trail 
ing  along  before  and  behind,  "  dey  got  some  blood  on  de 
back  of  you'  hade." 

That  same  morning  Clotilde  had  given  a  music-scholar 
her  appointed  lesson,  and  at  its  conclusion  had  borrowed 
of  her  patroness  (how  pleasant  it  must  have  been  to  have 
such  things  to  lend  !)  a  little  yellow  maid,  in  order  that, 
with  more  propriety,  she  might  make  a  business  call. 
It  was  that  matter  of  the  rent — one  that  had  of  late  oc 
casioned  her  great  secret  distress.  "  It  is  plain,"  she 
had  begun  to  say  to  herself,  unable  to  comprehend  Au 
rora's  peculiar  trust  in  Providence,  "  that  if  the  money 
is  to  be  got  I  must  get  it."  A  possibility  had  flashed 
upon  her  mind  ;  she  had  nurtured  it  into  a  project,  had 
submitted  it  to  her  father-confessor  in  the  cathedral, 
and  received  his  unqualified  approval  of  it,  and  was 
ready  this  morning  to  put  it  into  execution.  A  great 
merit  of  the  plan  was  its  simplicity.  It  was  merely  to 
find  for  her  heaviest  bracelet  a  purchaser  in  time,  and  a 


UNKINDEST  CUT  OF  ALL.  269 

price  sufficient,  to  pay  to-morrow's  "  maturities."  See 
there  again  ! — to  her,  her  little  secret  was  of  greater 
import  than  the  collision  of  almost  any  pine-knot  with 
almost  any  head. 

It  must  not  be  accepted  as  evidence  either  of  her  un 
willingness  to  sell  or  of  the  amount  of  gold  in  the  brace 
let,  that  it  took  the  total  of  Clotilde's  moral  and  physical 
strength  to  carry  it  to  the  shop  where  she  hoped — against 
hope — to  dispose  of  it. 

'Sieur  Frowenfeld,  M.  Innerarity  said,  was  out,  but 
would  certainly  be  in  in  a  few  minutes,  and  she  was  per 
suaded  to  take  a  chair  against  the  half-hidden  door  at 
the  bottom  of  the  shop  with  the  little  borrowed  maid 
crouched  at  her  feet. 

She  had  twice  or  thrice  felt  a  regret  that  she  had  un 
dertaken  to  wait,  and  was  about  to  rise  and  go,  when 
suddenly  she  saw  before  her  Joseph  Frowenfeld,  wiping 
the  sweat  of  anguish  from  his  brow  and  smeared  with 
blood  from  his  forehead  down.  She  rose  quickly  and 
silently,  turned  sick  and  blind,  and  laid  her  hand  upon 
the  back  of  the  chair  for  support.  Frowenfeld  stood  an 
instant  before  her,  groaned,  and  disappeared  through 
the  door.  The  little  maid,  retreating  backward  against 
her  from  the  direction  of  the  street-door,  drew  to  her 
attention  a  crowd  of  sight-seers  which  had  rushed  up  to 
the  doors  and  against  which  Raoul  was  hurriedly  closing 
the  shop. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

CLOTILDE   AS  A  SURGEON. 

WAS  it  worse  to  stay,  or  to  fly  ?  The  decision  must 
be  instantaneous.  But  Raoul  made  it  easy  by  crying  in 
their  common  tongue,  as  he  slammed  a  massive  shutter 
and  shot  its  bolt : 

"  Go  to  him  !  he  is  down — I  heard  him  fall.  Go  to 
him  !  " 

At  this  rallying  cry  she  seized  her  shield — that  is  to 
say,  the  little  yellow  attendant,  and  hurried  into  the 
room.  Joseph  lay  just  beyond  the  middle  of  the  apart 
ment,  face  downward.  She  found  water  and  a  basin, 
wet  her  own  handkerchief,  and  dropped  to  her  knees  be 
side  his  head  ;  but  the  moment  he  felt  the  small,  feminine 
hands  he  stood  up.  She  took  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Asseyez-vous,Monsieii — pliz  to  give  you'sev  de  pens 
to  see  down,  'Sieu'  Frowenfel'." 

See  spoke  with  a  nervous  tenderness  in  contrast  with 
her  alarmed  and  entreating  expression  of  face,  and  gently 
pushed  him  into  a  chair. 

The  child  ran  behind  the  bed  and  burst  into  frightened 
sobs,  but  ceased  when  Clotilde  turned  for  an  instant  and 
glared  at  her. 

"  Magueyo*  'ead  back,"  said  Clotilde,  and  with  tremu 
lous  tenderness  she  softly  pressed  back  his  brow  and  be 
gan  wiping  off  the  blood.  "  Were  you  is  'urted  ?  " 


CLOTILDE  AS  A   SURGEON.  2/1 

But  while  she  was  asking  her  question  she  had  found 
the  gash  and  was  growing  alarmed  at  its  ugliness,  when 
Raoul,  having  made  everything  fast,  came  in  with  : 

"  Wat's  de  mattah,  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  ?  w'at's  de  mat- 
tah  wid  you  ?  Oo  done  dat,  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  ?  " 

Joseph  lifted  his  head  and  drew  away  from  it  the  small 
hand  and  wet  handkerchief,  and  without  letting  go  the 
hand,  looked  again  into  Clotilde's  eyes,  and  said : 

"  Go  home  ;  oh,  go  home  !  " 

"  Oh !  no,"  protested  Raoul,  whereupon  Clotilde 
turned  upon  him  with  a  perfectly  amiable,  nurse's  grim 
ace  for  silence. 

"  I  goin'  rad  now,"  she  said. 

Raoul's  silence  was  only  momentary. 

"Were  you  lef  you'  hat,  'Sieur  Frowenfel'?"  he 
asked,  and  stole  an  artist's  glance  at  Clotilde,  while 
Joseph  straightened  up,  and  nerving  himself  to  a  tolera 
ble  calmness  of  speech,  said  : 

"  I  have  been  struck  with  a  stick  of  wood  by  a  half 
witted  person  under  a  misunderstanding  of  my  inten 
tions  ;  but  the  circumstances  are  such  as  to  blacken  my 
character  hopelessly;  but  I  am  innocent!"  he  cried, 
stretching  forward  both  arms  and  quite  losing  his  mo 
mentary  self-control. 

"  'Sieu'  Frowenfel' ! "  cried  Clotilde,  tears  leaping  to 
her  eyes,  "  I  am  shoe  of  it  !  " 

"  I  believe  you  !  I  believe  you,  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  !  " 
exclaimed  Raoul  with  sincerity. 

"  You  will  not  believe  me,"  said  Joseph.  "  You  will 
not ;  it  will  be  impossible." 

"Mais"  cried  Clotilde,  "id  shall  nod  be  impos- 
sib'  !  " 

But  the  apothecary  shook  his  head. 


272  THE 

"  All  I  can  be  suspected  of  will  seem  probable;  the 
truth  only  is  incredible." 

His  head  began  to  sink  and  a  pallor  to  overpread  his' 
face. 

"  Allcz,  monsieur,  allcz"  cried  Clotilde  to  Raoul,  a 
picture  of  beautiful  terror  which  he  tried  afterward  to 
paint  from  memory,  "  appeles  Doctah  Kin  !  " 

Raoul  made  a  dash  for  his  hat,  and  the  next  moment 
she  heard,  with  unpleasant  distinctness,  his  impetuous 
hand  slam  the  shop  door  and  lock  her  in. 

"  Bailie  via  do  t'eau,"  she  called  to  the  little  mulat- 
tress,  who  responded  by  searching  wildly  for  a  cup  and 
presently  bringing  a  measuring-glass  full  of  water. 

Clotilde  gave  it  to  the  wounded  man,  and  he  rose  at 
once  and  stood  on  his  feet. 

"  Raoul." 


"  'E  gone  at  Doctah  Kin." 


"  I  do  not  need  Doctor  Keene  ;  I  am  not  badly  hurt. 
Raoul  should  not  have  left  you  here  in  this  manner. 
You  must  not  stay." 

"  Bud,  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  I  am  afred  to  trah  to  paz 
dad  gangue  !  " 

A  new  distress  seized  Joseph  in  view  of  this  additional 
complication.  But,  unmindful  of  this  suggestion,  the 
fair  Creole  suddenly  exclaimed  : 

"  'Sieu'  Frowenfel',  you  har  a  hinnocen'  man  !  Go, 
hopen  yo'  do's  an'  stan'  juz  as  you  har  ub  biffo  dad 
crowd  and  sesso  !  My  God  !  'Sicu'  Frowenfel',  iv  you 
cannod  stan'  ub  by  you'sev " 

She  ceased  suddenly  with  a  wild  look,  as  if  another 
word  would  have  broken  the  levees  of  her  eyes,  and  in  that 
instant  Frowenfeld  recovered  the  full  stature  of  a  man. 

"  God  bless  you  !  "  he  cried.      "  I  will  do  it !  "     He 


CLOTILDE  AS  A    SURGEON.  2/3 

started,  then  turned  again  toward  her,  dumb  for  an  in 
stant,  and  said  :  "  And  God  reward  you  !  You  believe 
in  me,  and  you  do  not  even  know  me." 

Her  eyes  became  wilder  still  as  she  looked  up  into  his 
face  with  the  words  : 

"  Mais,  I  does  know  you — betteh  'n  you  know  anny- 
t'in'  boud  it !  "  and  turned  away,  blushing  violently. 

Frowenfeld  gave  a  start.  She  had  given  him  too 
much  light.  He  recognized  her,  and  she  knew  it.  For 
another  instant  he  gazed  at  her  averted  face,  and  then 
with  forced  quietness  said  : 

"  Please  go  into  the  shop." 

The  whole  time  that  had  elapsed  since  the  shutting  of 
the  doors  had  not  exceeded  five  minutes  ;  a  sixth  sufficed 
for  Clotilde  and  her  attendant  to  resume  their  original 
position  in  the  nook  by  the  private  door  and  for  Frow 
enfeld  to  wash  his  face  and  hands.  Then  the  al'ert  and 
numerous  ears  without  heard  a  drawing  of  bolts  at  the 
door  next  to  that  which  Raoul  had  issued,  its  leaves 
opened  outward,  and  first  the  pale  hands  and  then  the 
white,  weakened  face  and  still  bloody  hair  and  apparel 
of  the  apothecary  made  their  appearance.  He  opened  a 
window  and  another  door.  The  one  locked  by  Raoul, 
when  unbolted,  jaelded  without  a  key,  and  the  shop 
stood  open. 

"  My  friends,"  said  the  trembling  proprietor,  "  if  any 
of  you  wishes  to  buy  anything,  I  am  ready  to  serve  him. 
The  rest  will  please  move  away." 

The  invitation,  though  probably  understood,  was  re 
sponded  to  by  only  a  few  at  the  banquette's  edge,  where 
a  respectable  face  or  two  wore  scrutinizing  frowns.  The 
remainder  persisted  in  silently  standing  and  gazing  in  at 
the  bloody  man. 


274  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

Frowenfeld  bore  the  gaze.  There  was  one  element  of 
emphatic  satisfaction  in  it — it  drew  their  observation 
from  Clotilde  at  the  other  end  of  the  shop.  He  stole  a 
glance  backward  ;  she  was  not  there.  She  had  watched 
her  chance,  safely  escaped  through  the  side  door,  and 
was  gone. 

Raoul  returned. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  Doctor  Keene  is  took  worse  ag'in. 
'E  is  in  bed  ;  but  'e  say  to  tell  you  in  dat  lill  troubl'  of 
dis  mawnin'  it  is  himseff  w'at  is  inti'lie  wrong,  an'  'e  hass 
you  poddon.  'E  says  sen'  fo'  Doctor  Conrotte,  but  I  din 
go  fo1  him  ;  dat  ole  scoun'rel — he  believe  in  puttin'  de 
niggas  fre'." 

Frowenfeld  said  he  would  not  consult  professional  ad 
visers  ;  with  a  little  assistance  from  Raoul,  he  could  give 
the  cut  the  slight  attention  it  needed.  He  went  back 
into  his  room,  while  Raoul  turned  back  to  the  door  and 
addressed  the  public. 

"  Pray,  Messieurs,  come  in  and  be  seated."  He  spoke 
in  the  Creole  French  of  the  gutters.  "  Come  in.  M. 
Frowenfeld  is  dressing,  and  desires  that  you  will  have  a 
little  patience.  Come  in.  Take  chairs.  You  will  not 
come  in  ?  No?  Nor  you,  Monsieur  ?  No?  I  will  set 
some  chairs  outside,  eh  ?  No  ?  " 

They  moved  by  twos  and  threes  away,  and  Raoul,  re 
tiring,  gave  his  employer  such  momentary  aid  as  was 
required.  When  Joseph,  in  changed  dress,  once  more 
appeared,  only  a  child  or  two  lingered  to  see  him,  and 
he  had  nothing  to  do  but  sit  down  and,  as  far  as  he  felt 
at  liberty  to  do  so,  answer  his  assistant's  questions. 

During  the  recital,  Raoul  was  obliged  to  exercise  the 
severest  self-restraint  to  avoid  laughing, — a  feeling  which 
was  modified  by  the  desire  to  assure  his  employer  that 


CLOTILDE   AS  A   SURGEON.  2/5 

he  understood  this  sort  of  thing  perfectly,  had  run  the 
same  risks  himself,  and  thought  no  less  of  a  man,  provid 
ing  he  was  a  gentleman,  because  of  an  unlucky  retribu 
tive  knock  on  the  head.  But  he  feared  laughter  would 
overclimb  speech  ;  and,  indeed,  with  all  expression  of 
sympathy  stifled,  he  did  not  succeed  so  completely  in 
hiding  the  conflicting  emotion  but  that  Joseph  did  once 
turn  his  pale,  grave  face  surprisedly,  hearing  a  snuffling 
sound,  suddenly  stifled  in  a  drawer  of  corks.  Said 
Raoul,  with  an  unsteady  utterance,  as  he  slammed  the 
drawer : 

"  H-h-.dat  makes  me  dat  I  can't  'elp  to  laugh  w'en  I 
t'ink  of  dat  fool  yesse'dy  w'at  want  to  buy  my  pigshoe 
for  honly  one  'undred  dolla' — ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

He  laughed  almost  indecorously. 

"  Raoul,"  said  Frowenfeld,  rising  and  closing  his 
eyes,  "I  am  going  back  for  my  hat.  It  would  make 
matters  worse  for  that  person  to  send  it  to  me,  and  it 
would  be  something  like  a  vindication  for  me  to  go  back 
to  the  house  and  get  it." 

Mr.  Innerarity  was  about  to  make  strenuous  objection, 
when  there  came  in  one  whom  he  recognized  as  an 
attache  of  his  cousin  Honore's  counting-room,  and 
handed  the  apothecary  a  note.  It  contained  Honore's 
request  that  if  Frowenfeld  was  in  his  shop  he  would  have 
the  goodness  to  wait  there  until  the  writer  could  call  and 
see  him. 

"  I  will  wait,"  was  the  reply. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

"  FO'    WAD   YOU   CRYNE?" 

CLOTILDE,  a  step  or  t\vo  from  home,  dismissed  her 
attendant,  and  as  Aurora,  with  anxious  haste,  opened  to 
her  familiar  knock,  appeared  before  her  pale  and 
trembling. 

"  A/t,  ma  fill e " 

The  overwrought  girl  dropped  her  head  and  wept 
without  restraint  upon  her  mother's  neck.  She  let  her 
self  be  guided  to  a  chair,  and  there,  while  Aurora 
nestled  close  to  her  side,  yielded  a  few  moments  to 
reverie  before  she  was  called  upon  to  speak.  Then 
Aurora  first  quietly  took  possession  of  her  hands,  and 
after  another  tender  pause  asked  in  English,  which  was 
equivalent  to  whispering  : 

"  Were  you  was,  chdrie?  " 

'"Sieur  Frowenfel' " 

Aurora  straightened  up  with  angry  astonishment  and 
drew  in  her  breath  for  an  emphatic  speech,  but  Clotilde, 
liberating  her  own  hands,  took  Aurora's,  and  hurriedly 
said,  turning  still  paler  as  she  spoke  : 

"  'E  godd  his  'ead  strigue  !  'Tis  all  knog  in  be'ine  ! 
'E  come  in  blidding— 

"  In  w'cre  ?  "  cried  Aurora. 

"  In  'is  shob." 

"  You  was  in  dad  shob  of  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  ?  " 


"  FO'    IV AD    YOU   CRYNEt" 

"  I  wend  ad  'is  shob  to  pay  doze  rend." 
"  How — you  wend  ad  'is  shob  to  pay- 


Clotilde  produced  the  bracelet.  The  two  looked  at 
each  other  in  silence  for  a  moment,  while  Aurora  took 
in  without  further  explanation  Clotilda's  project  and  its 
failure. 

"An'  'Sieur  Frowenfel' — dey  kill  'im  ?  Ah!  ma 
chcre,  fo'  wad  you  mague  me  to  hass  all  doze  ques 
tion  ?  " 

Clotilde  gave  a  brief  account  of  the  matter,  omitting 
only  her  conversation  with  Frowenfeld. 

"Mais,  oo  strigue  'im  ?  "  demanded  Aurora,  im 
patiently. 

"  Addunao  !  "  replied  the  other.  "Bud  I  does  know 
'e  is  hinnocen'  !  " 

A  small  scouting-party  of  tears  reappeared  on  the 
edge  of  her  eyes. 

"  Innocen'  from  wad  ?  " 

Aurora  betrayed  a  twinkle  of  amusement. 

"  Hev'ryt'in',  iv  you  pliz  !  "  exclaimed  Clotilde,  with 
most  uncalled-for  warmth. 

"  An'  you  crah  bic-ause  'e  is  nod  guiltie  ?  " 

"Ah!  foolish!" 

"  Ah,  non,  mie  chile,  I  know  fo'  wad  you  cryne  :  'tis 
h-only  de  sighd  of  de  blood." 

"Oh,  sighd  of  blood!  " 

Clotilde  let  a  little  nervous  laugh  escape  through  her 
dejection. 

"Well,  then," — Aurora's  eyes  twinkled  like  stars, — 
"  id  muz  be  bic-ause 'Sieur  Frowenfel' bump  'is 'ead — 
ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

" 'T  is  nod  true' !"  cried  Clotilde;  but,  instead  of 
laughing,  as  Aurora  had  supposed  she  would,  she  sent 


2/8  THE    GRAND1SSIMES. 

a  double  flash  of  light  from  her  eyes,  crimsoned,  and 
retorted,  as  the  tears  again  sprang  from  their  lurking- 
place,  "You  wand  to  maguc  ligue  you  don't  kyah  ! 
But  /  know  !  I  know  verrie  well  !  You  kyah  fifty 
time'  as  mudge  as  me  !  I  know  you  !  I  know  you  ! 
I  bin  wadge  you  !  " 

Aurora  was  quite  dumb  for  a  moment,  and  gazed  at 
Clotilde,  wondering  what  could  have  made  her  so  unlike 
herself.  Then  she  half  rose  up,  and,  as  she  reached 
forward  an  arm,  and  laid  it  tenderly  about  her  daugh 
ter's  neck,  said : 

"  Ma  lill  dotter,  wad  dad  meggin  you  cry  ?  Iv  you 
will  tell  me  \vad  dad  mague  you  cry,  I  will  tell  you— 
on  ma  second  word  of  honor  " — she  rolled  up  her  fist — 
"  juz  wad  I  thing  about  dad  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  !  " 

"  I  don't  kyah  wad  de  whole  worl'  thing  aboud 
'im  !" 

"  Mais,  anny'ow,  tell  me  fo'  wad  you  cryne  ?  " 

Clotilde  gazed  aside  for  a  moment  and  then  confronted 
her  questioner  consentingly. 

"  I  tole  'im  I  knowed  'e  war  h-innocen'." 

"  Eh,  bicn,  dad  was  h-only  de  poli-i-idenez.  Wad  'e 
said  ?  " 

"  'E  said  I  din  knowed  'im  'tall." 

"  An' you,"  exclaimed  Aurora,  "it  is  nod  pozzyble 
dad  you " 

"  I  tole  'im  I  know  'im  bette'n  'e  know  annyt'in' 
'boud  id!" 

The  speaker  dropped  her  face  into  her  mother's  lap. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  "  laughed  Aurora,  "  an'  wad  of  dad  ?  I 
would  say  dad,  me,  fo'  time'  a  day.  I  gi'e  you  mie 
word  'e  don  godd  dad  sens'  to  know  wad  dad  mean." 

"Ah!  don  godd   sens'!"    cried  Clotilde,   lifting    her 


"FO'    WAD    YOU  CRYNE?"  279 

head  up  suddenly  with  a  face  of  agony.  "  'E  reg — 'e 
reggo-ni-i-ize  me  !  " 

Aurora  caught  her  daughter's  cheeks  between  her 
hands  and  laughed  all  over  them. 

"Mais,  don  you  see  'ow  dad  was  luggy  ?  Now,  you 
know  ? — 'e  goin'  fall  in  love  wid  you  an'  you  goin'  'ave 
dad  sadizfagzion  to  rif-use  de  biggis'  hand  in  Noo- 'leans. 
An'  you  will  be  h-even,  ha,  ha  !  Bud  me — you  wand 
to  know  wad  I  thing  aboud  'im  ?  I  thing  'e  is  one  — 
egcellen'  drug-cl —  ah,  ha,  ha  !  " 

Clotilde  replied  with  a  smile  of  grieved  incredulity. 

"De  bez  in  de  ciddy !  "  insisted  the  other.  She 
crossed  the  forefinger  of  one  hand  upon  that  of  the  other 
and  kissed  them,  reversed  the  cross  and  kissed  them 
again.  "  Mais,  ad  de  sem  tarn,"  she  added,  giving  her 
daughter  time  to  smile,  "  I  thing  'e  is  one  noble  gen  le- 
man.  Nod  to  sood  me,  of  coze,  mais,  ^a  fait  rien—-da.z 
nott'n  ;  me,  I  am  now  a  h'ole  woman,  you  know,  eh  ? 
Noboddie  can'  nevva  sood  me  no  mo',  nod  ivven  dad 
Govenno'  Cleb-orne." 

She  tried  to  look  old  and  jaded. 

"Ah,  Govenno'  Cleb-orne  !"  exclaimed  Clotilde. 

"  Yass  ! — Ah,  you  ! — you  thing  iv  a  man  is  nod  a 
Creole  'e  bovvn  to  be  no  'coun'  !  I  assu'  you  dey  don' 
godd  no  boddy  wad  I  fine  a  so  nize  gen'leman  lag 
Govenno'  Cleb-orne  !  Ah  !  Clotilde,  you  godd  no 
lib''ral'ty  !  " 

The  speaker  rose,  cast  a  discouraged  parting  look  upon 
her  narrow-minded  companion  and  went  to  investigate 
the  slumbrous  silence  of  the  kitchen. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
AURORA'S  LAST  PICAYUNE. 

NOT  often  in  Aurora's  life  had  joy  and  trembling  so 
been  mingled  in  one  cup  as  on  this  day.  Clotilde  wept ; 
and  certainly  the  mother's  heart  could  but  respond  ;  yet 
Clotilde's  tears  filled  her  with  a  secret  pleasure  which 
fought  its  way  up  into  the  beams  of  her  eyes  and  asserted 
itself  in  the  frequency  and  heartiness  of  her  laugh  despite 
her  sincere  participation  in  her  companion's  distresses 
and  a  fearful  looking  forward  to  to-morrow. 

Why  these  flashes  of  gladness  ?  If  we  do  not  know,  it  is 
because  we  have  overlooked  one  of  her  sources  of  trouble. 
From  the  night  of  the  bal  masqud  she  had — we  dare  say 
no  more  than  that  she  had  been  haunted  ;  she  certainly 
would  not  at  first  have  admitted  even  so  much  to  herself. 
Yet  the  fact  was  not  thereby  altered,  and  first  the  fact 
and  later  the  feeling  had  given  her  much  distress  of  mind. 
Who  he  was  whose  image  would  not  down,  for  a  long 
time  she  did  not  know.  This,  alone,  was  torture  ;  not 
merely  because  it  was  mystery,  but  because  it  helped  to 
force  upon  her  consciousness  that  her  affections,  spite  of] 
her,  were  ready  and  waiting  for  him  and  he  did  not  come 
after  them.  That  he  loved  her,  she  knew  ;  she  had 
achieved  at  the  ball  an  overwhelming  victory,  to  her 
certain  knowledge,  or,  depend  upon  it,  she  never  would 
have  unmasked — never. 


AURORA'S  LAST  PICAYUNE.  28 1 

But  with  this  torture  was  mingled  not  only  the  ecstasy 
of  loving,  but  the  fear  of  her  daughter.  This  is  a  world 
that  allows  nothing  without  its  obverse  and  reverse/ 
Strange  differences  are  often  seen  between  the  two 
sides  ;  and  one  of  the  strangest  and  most  inharmonious 
in  this  world  of  human  relations  is  that  coinage  which 
a  mother  sometimes  finds  herself  offering  to  a  daughter, 
and  which  reads  on  one  side,  Bridegroom,  and  on  the 
other,  Step-father. 

Then,  all  this  torture  to  be  hidden  under  smiles  ! 
Worse  still,  when  by  and  by  Messieurs  Agoussou, 
Assonquer,  Danny  and  others  had  been  appealed  to  and 
a  Providence  boundless  in  tender  compassion  had  an 
swered  in  their  stead,  she  and  her  lover  had  simultane 
ously  discovered  each  other's  identity  only  to  find  that 
he  was  a  Montague  to  her  Capulet.  And  the  source  of 
her  agony  must  be  hidden,  and  falsely  attributed  to  the 
rent  deficiency  and  their  unprotected  lives.  Its  true 
nature  must  be  concealed  even  from  Clotilde.  What  a 
secret — for  what  a  spirit — to  keep  from  what  a  com 
panion  ! — a  secret  yielding  honey  to  her,  but,  it  might  be, 
gall  to  Clotilde.  She  felt  like  one  locked  in  the  Garden 
of  Eden  all  alone — alone  with  all  the  ravishing  flowers, 
alone  with  all  the  lions  and  tigers.  She  wished  she  had 
told  the  secret  when  it  was  small  and  had  let  it  increase 
by  gradual  accretions  in  Clotilde's  knowledge  day  by 
day.  At  first  it  had  been  but  a  garland,  then  it  had  be 
come  a  chain,  now  it  was  a  ball  and  chain  ;  and  it  was 
oh  !  and  oh  !  if  Clotilde  would  only  fall  in  love  herself. 
How  that  would  simplify  matters  !  More  than  twice  or 
thrice  she  had  tried  to  reveal  her  overstrained  heart  in 
broken  sections  ;  but  on  her  approach  to  the  very  outer 
confines  of  the  matter,  Clotilde  had  always  behaved  so 


282  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

strangely,  so  nervously,  in  short,  so  beyond  Aurora's 
comprehension,  that  she  invariably  failed  to  make  any 
revelation. 

And  now,  here  in  the  very  central  darkness  of  this 
cloud  of  troubles,  comes  in  Clotilde,  throws  herself  upon 
the  defiant  little  bosom  so  full  of  hidden  suffering,  and 
weeps  tears  of  innocent  confession  that  in  a  moment 
lay  the  dust  of  half  of  Aurora's  perplexities.  Strange 
world  !  The  tears  of  the  orphan  making  the  widow 
weep  for  joy,  if  she  only  dared. 

The  pair  sat  down  opposite  each  other  at  their  little 
dinner-table.  They  had  a  fixed  hour  for  dinner.  It  is 
well  to  have  a  fixed  hour  ;  it  is  in  the  direction  of  sys 
tem.  "  Even  if  you  have  not  the  dinner,  there  is  the 
hour.  Alphonsina  was  not  in  perfect  harmony  with 
this  fixed-hour  idea.  It  was  Aurora's  belief,  often  ex 
pressed  in  hungry  moments  with  the  laugh  of  a  vexed 
Creole  lady  (a  laugh  worthy  of  study),  that  on  the  day 
when  dinner  should  really  be  served  at  the  appointed 
hour,  the  cook  would  drop  dead  of  apoplexy  and  she  of 
fright.  She  said  it  to-day,  shutting  her  arms  down  to 
her  side,  closing  her  eyes  with  her  eyebrows  raised,  and 
dropping  into  her  chair  at  the  table  like  a  dead  bird 
from  its  perch.  Not  that  she  felt  particularly  hungry  ; 
but  there  is  a  certain  desultoriness  allowable  at  table 
more  than  elsewhere,  and  which  suited  the  hither-thither 
movement  of  her  conflicting  feelings.  This  is  why  she 
had  wished  for  dinner. 

Boiled  shrimps,  rice,  claret-and-water,  bread — they 
were  dining  well  the  day  before  execution.  Dining  is 
hardly  correct,  either,  for  Clotilde,  at  least,  did  not  eat ; 
they  only  sat.  Clotilde  had,  too,  if  not  her  unknown, 
at  least  her  unconfessed  emotions.  Aurora's  were  tossed 


AURORA'S  LAST  PICAYUNE.  283 

by  the  waves,  hers  were  sunken  beneath  them.  Aurora 
had  a  faith  that  the  rent  would  be  paid — a  faith  which 
was  only  a  vapor,  but  a  vapor  gilded  by  the  sun — that 
is,  by  Apollo,  or,  to  be  still  more  explicit,  by  Honore 
Grandissime.  Clotilde,  deprived  of  this  confidence,  had 
tried  to  raise  means  wherewith  to  meet  the  dread  obli 
gation,  or,  rather,  had  tried  to  try  and  had  failed.  To 
day  was  the  ninth,  to-morrow,  the  street.  Joseph 
Frowenfeld  was  hurt ;  her  dependence  upon  his  good 
offices  was  gone.  When  she  thought  of  him  suffering 
uuder  public  contumely,  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  could 
feel  the  big  drops  of  blood  dropping  from  her  heart  ; 
and  when  she  recalled  her  own  actions,  speeches,  and 
demonstrations  in  his  presence,  exaggerated  by  the 
groundless  fear  that  he  had  guessed  into  the  deepest 
springs  of  her  feelings,  then  she  felt  those  drops  of  blood 
congeal.  Even  if  the  apothecary  had  been  duller  of 
discernment  than  she  supposed,  here  was  Aurora  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  table,  reading  every  thought  of  her 
inmost  soul.  But  worst  of  all  was  'Sieur  Frowenfel's 
indifference.  It  is  true  that,  as  he  had  directed  upon 
her  that  gaze  of  recognition,  there  was  a  look  of  mighty 
gladness,  if  she  dared  believe  her  eyes.  But  no,  she 
dared  not ;  there  was  nothing  there  for  her,  she  thought, 
—probably  (when  this  anguish  of  public  disgrace  should 
by  any  means  be  lifted)  a  benevolent  smile  at  her  and 
her  betrayal  of  interest.  Clotilde  felt  as  though  she  had 
been  laid  entire  upon  a  slide  of  his  microscope. 

Aurora  at  length  broke  her  reverie. 

"  Clotilde," — she  spoke  in  French — "  the  matter  with 
you  is  that  you  have  no  heart.  You  never  did  have  any. 
Really  and  truly,  you  do  not  care  whether  'Sieur  Frow- 
enfel1  lives  or  dies.  You  do  not  care  how  he  is  or  where 


284  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

he  is  this  minute.  I  wish  you  had  some  of  my  too  large 
heart.  I  not  only  have  the  heart,  as  I  tell  you,  to  think 
kindly  of  our  enemies,  doze  Grandissime,  for  example" 
— she  waved  her  hand  with  the  air  of  selecting  at  ran 
dom — "  but  I  am  burning  up  to  know  what  is  the  condi 
tion  of  that  poor,  sick,  noble  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  and  I  am 
going  to  do  it  !  "  * 

The  heart  which  Clotilde  was  accused  of  not  having 
gave  a  stir  of  deep  gratitude.  Dear,  pretty  little  moth 
er  !  Not  only  knowing  full  well  the  existence  of  this 
swelling  heart  and  the  significance,  to-day,  of  its  every 
warm  pulsation,  but  kindly  covering  up  the  discovery 
with  make-believe  reproaches.  The  tears  started  in  her 
eyes  ;  that  was  her  reply. 

"  Oh,  now  !  it  is  the  rent  again,  I  suppose,"  cried 
Aurora,  "  always  the  rent.  It  is  not  the  rent  that  wor 
ries  me,  it  is  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  poor  man.  But  very 
well,  Mademoiselle  Silence,  I  will  match  you  for  making 
me  do  all  the  talking."  She  was  really  beginning  to  sink 
under  the  labor  of  carrying  all  the  sprightliness  for  both. 
"Come,"  she  said,  savagely,  "  propose  something." 

"  Would  you  think  well  to  go  and  inquire  ?  " 

"  Ah,  listen  !  Go  and  what?  No,  Mademoiselle,  I 
think  not." 

"  Well,  send  Alphonsina." 

"  What  ?  And  let  him  know  that  I  am  anxious  about 
him  ?  Let  me  tell  you,  my  little  girl,  I  shall  not  drag 
upon  myself  the  responsibility  of  increasing  the  self-con 
ceit  of  any  of  that  sex." 

"  Well,  then,  send  to  buy  a  picayune's  worth  of  some 
thing." 

"  Ah,  ha,  ha  !  An  emetic,  for  instance.  Tell  him  we 
are  poisoned  on  mushrooms,  ha,  ha,  ha!  " 


AURORA'S   LAST  PICAYUNE.  285 

Clotilde  laughed  too. 

"  Ah,  no,"  she  said.  "  Send  for  something  he  does 
not  sell." 

Aurora  was  laughing  while  Clotilde  spoke  ;  but  as  she 
caught  these  words  she  stopped  with  open-mouthed  as 
tonishment,  and,  as  Clotilde  blushed,  laughed  again. 

"Oh,  Clotilde,  Clotilde,  Clotilde  !  "—she  leaned  for 
ward  over  the  table,  her  face  beaming  with  love  and 
laughter — "you  rowdy!  you  rascal!  You  are  just  as 
bad  as  your  mother,  whom  you  think  so  wicked  !  I  ac 
cept  your  advice.  Alphonsina.!  " 

"  Momselle  !  " 

The  answer  came  from  the  kitchen. 

"  Come  go— or,  rather, — vini  '  ci  courri  dans  boutique 
de  V apotkecaire.  Clotilde,"  she  continued,  in  better 
French,  holding  up  the  coin  to  view,  "  Look  !  " 

"What?" 

"  The  last  picayune  we  have  in  the  world— ha,  ha, 
ha!" 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

HONORB  MAKES  SOME   CONFESSIONS. 

"  Comment  $a  va,  Rao  it  I  f  "  said  Honore  Grandis- 
sime  ;  he  had  come  to  the  shop  according  to  the  propo 
sal  contained  in  his  note.  "Where-h  is  Mr.  Frhowen- 
feld  ?  " 

He  found  the  apothecary  in  the  rear  /oom,  dressed, 
but  just  rising  from  the  bed  at  sound  of  his  voice.  He 
closed  the  door  after  him  ;  they  shook  hands  and  took 
chairs. 

"  You  have  fevah,"  said  the  merchant.  "  I  have  been 
trhoubled  that  way  myself,  some,  lately."  He  rubbed  his 
face  all  over,  hard,  with  one  hand,  and  looked  at  the 
ceiling.  "Loss  of  sleep,  I  suppose,  in  both  of  us  ;  in 
yo'  case  volunta'y — in  pu'suit  of  study,  most  likely  ;  in 
my  case — effect  of  anxiety."  He  smiled  a  moment  and 
then  suddenly  sobered  as  after  a  pause  he  said  : 

"  But  I  heah  you  are-h  in  trhouble  ;  may  I  ask " 

Frowenfeld  had  interrupted  him  with  almost  the  same 
words  : 

"  May  I  venture  to  ask,  Mr.  Grandissime,  what " 

And  both  were  silent  for  a  moment. 

"Oh,"  said  Honore,  with  a  gesture.  "  My  trhouble 
—I  did  not  mean  to  mention  it  ;  'tis  an  old  matteh — in 
paht.  You  know,  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,  therc-h  is  a  kind 
of  trhee  not  drhcamed  of  in  botany,  that  lets  fall  its 


•HONOR  t.   MAKES  SOME    CONFESSIONS.  287 

frhuit  everhy  day  in  the  yeah — you  know  ?  We  call  it 
— with  rheverhence — '  ow  dead  fathe's  mistakes.'  I 
have  had  to  eat  much  of  that  frhuit ;  a  man  who  has  to 
do  that  mus'  expect  to  have  now  and  then  a  little 
fevah." 

"I  have  heard,"  replied  Frowenfeld,  "that  some  of 
the  titles  under  which  your  relatives  hold  their  lands  are 
found  to  be  of  the  kind  which  the  State's  authorities 
are  pronouncing  worthless.  I  hope  this  is  not  the 
case." 

"  I  wish  they  had  nevva  been  put  into  my  custody," 
said  M.  Grandissime. 

Some  new  thought  moved  him  to  draw  his  chair  closer. 

"Mr.  Frhowenfeld,  those  two  ladies  whom  you  went 
to  see  the  other-h  evening — 

His  listener  started  a  little  : 

"Yes." 

"  Did  they  evva  tell  you  their  historhy  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  but  I  have  heard  it." 

"  An' you  think  they  have  been  deeply  wrhonged, 
eh  ?  Come  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,  take  rhight  hold  of  the 
acacia-bush." 

M.  Grandissime  did  not  smile. 

Frowenfeld  winced. 

"  I  think  they  have." 

"  And  you  think  rhestitution  should  be  made  them, 
no  doubt,  eh?  " 

"I  do." 

"At  any  cost?" 

The  questioner  showed  a  faint,  unpleasant  smile,  that 
stirred  something  like  opposition  in  the  breast  of  the 
apothecary. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered. 


288  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

The  next  question  had  a  tincture  even  of  fierceness  : 

"  You  think  it  rhight  to  sink  fifty  or-h  a  hundrhed 
people  into  povetty  to  lift  one  o'  two  out?  " 

"  Mr.  Grandissime,"  said  Frowenfeld,  slowly,  "you 
bade  me  study  this  community." 

"  I  adv — yes  ;  what  is  it  you  find  ?  " 

"  I  find — it  may  be  the  same  with  other  communities, 
I  suppose  it  is,  more  or  less — that  just  upon  the  culmi 
nation  of  the  moral  issue  it  turns  and  asks  the  question 
which  is  behind  it,  instead  of  the  question  which  is  be 
fore  it." 

"  And  what  is  the  question  befo'  me  ?  " 

"  I  know  it  only  in  the  abstract." 

"Well?" 

The  apothecary  looked  distressed. 

"  You  should  not  make  me  say  it,"  he  objected. 

"Nevvatheless,"  said  the  Creole,  "  I  take  that  lib- 
betty." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Frowenfeld,  "the  question  be 
hind  is  Expediency  and  the  question  in  front,  Divine 
Justice.  You  are  asking  yourself — 

He  checked  himself. 

"Which  I  ought  to  rhegahd,"  said  M.  Grandissime, 
quickly.  "  Expediency,  of  co'se,  and  be  like  the  rhest 
of  mankind."  He  put  on  a  look  of  bitter  humor.  "  It 
is  all  easy  enough  fo'  you,  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,  my-de'-seh  ; 
you  have  the  easy  paht — the  theorhizing." 

He  saw  the  ungencrousness  of  his  speech  as  soon  as  it 
was  uttered,  yet  he  did  not  modify  it. 

"True,  Mr.  Grandissime,"  said  Frowenfeld  ;  and  after 
a  pause — "  but  you  have  the  noble  part — the  doing." 

"  Ah,  my-de'-seh  !"  exclaimed  Honortf ;  "the  noble 
paht !  There-h  is  the  bitterness  of  the  drhaught !  The 


HONOR&    MAKES   SOME    CONFESSIONS.  289 

oppo'tunity  to  act  is  pushed  upon  me,  but  the  oppo'tu- 
nity  to  act  nobly  has  passed  by.'' 

He  again  drew  his  chair  closer,  glanced  behind  him 
and  spoke  low  : 

"  Because  fo'  yeahs  I  have  had  a  kind  of  custody  of  all 
my  kinsmen's  prhopetty  interhests,  Agrhicola's  among 
them,  it  is  supposed  that  he  has  always  kept  the  planta 
tion  of  Aurore  Nancanou  (or  rather-h  of  Clotilde — who, 
you  know,  by  ow  laws  is  the  rheal  heir).  That  is  a  mis 
take.  Explain  it  as  you  please,  call  it  rhemoss,  prhide, 
love — what  you  like — while  I  was  in  France  and  he  was 
managing  my  motheh's  business,  unknown  to  me  he 
gave  me  that  plantation.  When  I  succeeded  him  I 
found  it  and  all  its  rhevenues  kept  distinct — as  was  but 
prhoper — frhom  all  other-h  accounts,  and  belonging  to 
me.  'Twas  a  fine,  extensive  place,  had  a  good  ove-seer-h 
on  it  and — I  kept  it.  Why  ?  Because  I  was  a  cowa'd. 
I  did  not  want  it  or-h  its  rhevenues ;  but,  like  my 
fatheh,  I  would  not  offend  my  people.  Peace  first  and 
justice  afte'wa'ds — that  was  the  prhinciple  on  which  I 
quietly  made  myself  the  trhustee  of  a  plantation  and  in 
come  which  you  would  have  given  back  to  their-h 
ownehs,  eh  ?  " 

Frowenfeld  was  silent. 

"  My-de'-seh,  rhecollect  that  to  us  the  Grhandissime 
name  is  a  trheasu'e.  And  what  has  prheserved  it  so 
long  ?  Cherhishing  the  unity  of  ow  family ;  that  has 
done  it ;  that  is  how  my  fatheh  did  it.  Just  or-h  unjust, 
good  o'  bad,  needful  o'  not,  done  elsewhere-h  o'  not,  I 
do  not  say  ;  but  it  is  a  Crheole  trhait.  See,  even  now  " 
(the  speaker  smiled  on  one  side  of  his  mouth)  "  in  a  cet- 
tain  section  of  the  terrhitorhy  cettain  men,  Crheoles  " 
(he  whispered,  gravely),  "  some  Grandissimes  among 


29O  THE    GRAlfniSSIMRS. 

tJiem,  evading  the  United  States  rhevenue  laws  and 
even  beating  and  killing  some  of  the  officials  :  well !  Do 
the  people  at  lahge  rhepudiate  those  men  ?  My-de'-seh, 
in  no  wise,  seh  !  No  ;  if  they  were  Amerkicains — but 
a  Louisianian — is  a  Louisianian  ;  touch  him  not ;  when 
you  touch  him  you  touch  all  Louisiana  !  So  with  us 
Grhandissimes ;  we  ah  legion,  but  we  ah  one.  Now, 
my-de'-seh,  the  thing  you  ask  me  to  do  is  to  cast  ova- 
boa'd  that  old  trhaditional  prhinciple  which  is  the  se- 
crhet  of  ow  existence." 

"  /ask  you  ?  " 

"  Ah,  bah  !  you  know  you  expect  it.  Ah  !  but  you 
do  not  know  the  upro'  such  an  action  would  make. 
And  no  '  noble  paht '  in  it,  my-de'-seh,  eitheh.  A  few 
months  ago — when  we  met  by  those  grhaves — if  I  had 
acted  then,  my  action  would  have  been  one  of  pure-h — 
even  violent — ^//"-sacrifice.  Do  you  rhemembeh — on 
the  levee,  by  the  Place  d'Armes — me  asking  you  to  send 
Agrhicola  to  me  ?  I  trhied  then  to  speak  of  it.  He 
would  not  let  me.  Then,  my  people  felt  safe  in  their 
land-titles  and  public  offices ;  this  rhestitution  would 
have  hurt  nothing  but  prhide.  Now,  titles  in  doubt, 
gove'ment  appointments  uncettain,  no  rheady  capital  in 
rheach  for-h  any  purpose  except  that  which  would  have 
to  be  handed  oveh  with  the  plantation  (fo'  to  tell  you 
the  fact,  my-de'-seh,  no  other-h  account  on  my  books 
has  prhospe'd),  with  mattehs  changed  in  this  way,  I  be 
come  the  destrhoyer-h  of  my  own  flesh  and  blood  !  Yes, 
seh  !  arid  lest  I  might  still  find  some  rhoom  to  boast, 
anothe-h  change  moves  me  into  a  position  where-h  it 
suits  me,  my-de'-seh,  to  make  the  rhestitution  so  fatal  to 
those  of  my  name.  When  you  and  I  fust  met,  those 
ladies  were-h  as  much  strhangehs  to  me  as  to  you — as 


HONORS   MAKES  SOME    CONFESSIONS.  2$l 

far-h  as  I  knew.     Then,  if  I  had  done  this  thing but 

now — now,  my  de'-seh,  I  find  myself  in  love  with  one  of 
them ! " 

M.  Grandissime  looked  his  friend  straight  in  the  eye 
with  the  frowning  energy  of  one  who  asserts  an  ugly 
fact. 

Frowenfeld,  regarding  the  speaker  with  a  gaze  of  re 
spectful  attention,  did  not  falter  ;  but  his  fevered  blood, 
with  an  impulse  that  started  him  half  from  his  seat, 
surged  up  into  his  head  and  face  ;  and  then — 

M.  Grandissime  blushed. 

In  the  few  silent  seconds  that  followed,  the  glances  of 
the  two  friends  continued  to  pass  into  each  other's  eyes, 
while  about  Honore's  mouth  hovered  the  smile  of  one 
who  candidly  surrenders  his  innermost  secret,  and  the 
lips  of  the  apothecary  set  themselves  together  as  though 
he  were  whispering  to  himself  behind  them,  "  Steady." 

"  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,"  said  the  Creole,  taking  a  sudden 
breath  and  waving  a  hand,  "  I  came  to  ask  about  yo1 
trhouble  ;  but  if  you  think  you  have  any  rheason  to 
withold  yo'  confidence " 

"  No,  sir  ;  no  !  But  can  I  be  no  help  to  you  in  this 
matter  ?  " 

The  Creole  leaned  back  smilingly  in  his  chair  and 
knit  his  fingers. 

"No,  I  did  not  intend  to  say  all  this;  I  came  to 
offeh  my  help  to  you  ;  but  my  mind  is  full — what  do  you 
expect  ?  My-de'-seh,  the  foam  must  come  fust  out  of 
the  bottle.  You  see  " — he  leaned  forward  again,  laid 
two  fingers  in  his  palm  and  deepened  his  tone — 4<  I  will 
tell  you  :  this  trhee — '  ow  dead  fathe's  mistakes ' — is 
ahout  to  drhop  another-h  rhotten  apple.  I  spoke  just 
now  of  the  upro'  this  rhestitution  would  make  ;  why, 


292  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

my-de'-seh,  just  the  mention  of  the  lady's  name  at  my 
house,  when  we  lately  held  the/Ste  de  grandpcre,  has 
given  rhise  to  a  qua'll  which  is  likely  to  end  in  a 
duel." 

"  Raoul  was  telling  me,"  said  the  apothecary. 

M.  Grandissime  made  an  affirmative  gesture. 

"  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,  if  you — if  any  one — could  teach 
my  people — I  mean  my  family — the  value  of  peace  (I  do 
not  say  the  duty,  my-de'-seh,  a  mehchant  talks  of 
values) ;  if  you  could  teach  them  the  value  of  peace,  I 
would  give  you,  if  that  was  yo'  phrice  " — he  ran  the 
edge  of  his  left  hand  knife-wise  around  the  wrist  of  his 
right — "  that.  And  if  you  would  teach  it  to  the  whole 
community — well — I  think  I  would  not  give  my  head  ; 
maybe  you  would."  He  laughed. 

"  There  is  a  peace  which  is  bad,"  said  the  contempla 
tive  apothecary. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Creole,  promptly,  "the  verhy  kind 
that  I  have  been  keeping  all  this  time — and  my  fatheh 
befo'  me  !  " 

He  spoke  with  much  warmth. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  again,  after  a  pause  which  was  not  a 
rest,  "  I  often  see  that  we  Grhandissimes  are-h  a  good 
example  of  the  Crheoles  at  lahge  ;  we  have  one  element 
that  makes  fo'  peace ;  that — pahdon  the  self-conscious 
ness — is  myself;  and  another-h  element  that  makes  fo' 
strhife — led  by  my  uncle  Agrhicola  ;  but,  my-de'-seh, 
the  peace  element  is  that  which  ought  to  make  the 
strhife,  and  the  strhife  element  is  that  which  ought  to  be 
made  to  keep  the  peace  !  Mr.  Frhowenfeld,  I  prhopose 
to  become  the  strhifemakeh  ;  how,  then,  can  I  be  a 
peace-makeh  at  the  same  time  ?  Thcre-h  is  my  diffy- 
cultie." 


HONORE  MAKES  SOME    CONFESSIONS.  293 

"  Mr.  Grandissime,"  exclaimed  Frowenfeld,  "  if  you 
have  any  design  in  view  founded  on  the  high  principles 
which  I  know  to  be  the  foundations  of  all  your  feelings, 
and  can  make  use  of  the  aid  of  a  disgraced  man,  use 
me." 

"  You  ah  verhy  generhous,"  said  the  Creole,  and  both 
were  silent.  Honore  dropped  his  eyes  from  Frowen- 
feld's  to  the  floor,  rubbed  his  knee  with  his  palm,  and 
suddenly  looked  up. 

"  You  are-h  innocent  of  wrhong  ?  " 

"Before  God." 

"  I  feel  sure-h  of  it.  Tell  me  in  a  few  words  all  about 
it.  I  ought  to  be  able  to  extrhicate  you.  Let  me  hear-h 
it." 

Frowenfeld  again  told  as  much  as  he  thought  he 
could,  consistently  with  his  pledges  to  Palmyre,  touch 
ing  with  extreme  lightness  upon  the  part  taken  by 
Clotilde. 

"  Tunn  arhound,"  said  M.  Grandissime  at  the  close; 
"  Let  me  see  the  back  of  yo'  head.  And  it  is  that  that 
is  giving  you  this  fevah,  eh  ?" 

"  Partly,"  replied  Frowenfeld  ;  "  but  how  shall  I  vin 
dicate  my  innocence  ?  I  think  1  ought  to  go  back 
openly  to  this  woman's  house  and  get  my  hat.  I  was 
about  to  do  that  when  I  got  your  note  ;  yet  it  seems  a 
feeble — even  if  possible — expedient. " 

"  My  frhiend,"  said  Honore,  "  leave  it  to  me.  I  see 
yo'  whole  case,  both  what  you  tell  and  what  you  con 
ceal.  I  guess  it  with  ease.  Knowing  Palmyre  so  well, 
and  knowing  (what  you  do  not)  that  all  the  voudous  in 
town  think  you  a  sorcerer,  I  know  just  what  she  would 
drhop  down  and  beg  you  faw — a  ouangan,  ha,  ha ! 
You  see  ?  Leave  it  all  to  me — and  yo'  hat  with  Pal- 


294  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

myre,  take  a  febrhifuge  and  a  nap,  and  await  word  from 
me." 

"And  may  I  offer  you  no  help  in  your  difficulty?" 
asked  the  apothecary,  as  the  two  rose  and  grasped 
hands. 

"Oh!"  said  the  Creole,  with  a  little  shrug,  "you 
may  do  anything  you  can — which  will  be  nothing." 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

TESTS   OF   FRIENDSHIP. 

FROWENFELD  turned  away  from  the  closing  door, 
caught  his  head  between  his  hands  and  tried  to  compre 
hend  the  new  wildness  of  the  tumult  within.  Honore 
Grandissime  avowedly  in  love  with  one  of  them — which 
one?  Doctor  Keene  visibly  in  love  with  one  of  them — 
which  one?  And  he  !  What  meant  this  bounding  joy 
that,  like  one  gorgeous  moth  among  innumerable  bats, 
flashed  to  and  fro  among  the  wild  distresses  and  dis 
mays  swarming  in  and  out  of  his  distempered  imagina 
tion  ?  He  did  not  answer  the  question  ;  he  only  knew 
the  confusion  in  his  brain  was  dreadful.  Both  hands 
could  not  hold  back  the  throbbing  of  his  temples ;  the 
table  did  not  steady  the  trembling  of  his  hands  ;  his 
thoughts  went  hither  and  thither,  heedless  of  his  call. 
Sit  down  as  he  might,  rise  up,  pace  the  room,  stand, 
lean  his  forehead  against  the  wall — nothing  could  quiet 
the  fearful  disorder,  until  at  length  he  recalled  Honore's 
neglected  advice  and  resolutely  lay  down  and  sought 
sleep  ;  and,  long  before  he  had  hoped  to  secure  it,  it 
came. 

In  the  distant  Grandissime  mansion,  Agricola  Fusilier 
was  casting  about  for  ways  and  means  to  rid  himself  of 
the  heaviest  heart  that  ever  had  throbbed  in  his  bosom. 
He  had  risen  at  sunrise  from  slumber  worse  than  sleep- 


296  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

lessness,  in  which  his  dreams  had  anticipated  the  duel 
of  to-morrow  with  Sylvestre.  He  was  trying  to  get 
the  unwonted  quaking  out  of  his  hands  and  the  memory 
of  the  night's  heart-dissolving  phantasms  from  before 
his  inner  vision.  To  do  this  he  had  resort  to  a  very  fa 
miliar,  we  may  say  time-honored,  prescription — rum. 
He  did  not  use  it  after  the  voudou  fashion  ;  the-voudous 
pour  it  on  the  ground — Agricola  was  an  anti-voudou. 
It  finally  had  its  effect.  By  eleven  o'clock  he  seemed, 
outwardly  at  least,  to  be  at  peace  with  everything  in 
Louisiana  that  he  considered  Louisianian,  properly  so- 
called  ;  as  to  all  else  he  was  ready  for  war,  as  in  peace 
one  should  be.  While  in  this  mood,  and  performing  at 
a  side-board  the  solemn  rite  of  las  onzc,  news  inci 
dentally  reached  him,  by  the  mouth  of  his  busy  second, 
Hippolyte,  of  Frowenfeld's  trouble,  and  despite  'Polyte's 
protestations  against  the  principal  in  a  pending  "  affair  " 
appearing  on  the  street,  he  ordered  the  carriage  and 
hurried  to  the  apothecary's. 

When  Frowenfeld  awoke,  the  fingers  of  his  clock 
were  passing  the  meridian.  His  fever  was  gone,  his 
brain  was  calm,  his  strength  in  good  measure  had  re 
turned.  There  had  been  dreams  in  his  sleep,  too :  he 
had  seen  Clotilde  standing  at  the  foot  of  his  bed.  He 
lay  now,  for  a  moment,  lost  in  retrospection. 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  about  it,"  said  he,  as  he  rose 
up,  looking  back  mentally  at  something  in  the  past. 

The  sound  of  carriage-wheels  attracted  his  attention 
by  ceasing  before  his  street  door.  A  moment  later  the 
voice  of  Agricola  was  heard  in  the  shop  greeting  Raoul. 
As  the  old  man  lifted  the  head  of  his  staff  to  tap  on  the 
inner  door,  Frowenfeld  opened  it. 


TESTS   OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

"  Fusilier  to  the  rescue  !  "  said  the  great  Louisianian, 
with  a  grasp  of  the  apothecary's  hand  and  a  gaze  of 
brooding  admiration. 

Joseph  gave  him  a  chair,  but  with  magnificent  humil 
ity  he  insisted  on  not  taking  it  until  "  Professor  Frowen- 
feld  "  had  himself  sat  down. 

The  apothecary  was  very  solemn.  It  seemed  to  him 
as  if  in  this  little  back  room  his  dead  good  name  was 
lying  in  state,  and  these  visitors  were  coming  in  to  take 
their  last  look.  From  time  to  time  he  longed  for  more 
light,  wondering  why  the  gravity  of  his  misadventure 
should  seem  so  great. 

"H-m-h-y  dear  Professor!"  began  the  old  man. 
Pages  of  print  could  not  comprise  all  the  meanings  of 
his  smile  and  accent ;  benevolence,  affection,  assumed- 
knowledge  of  the  facts,  disdain  of  results,  remembrance 
of  his  own  youth,  charity  for  pranks,  patronage — these 
were  but  a  few.  He  spoke  very  slowly  and  deeply  and 
with  this  smile  of  a  hundred  meanings.  "  Why  did  you 
not  send  for  me,  Joseph  ?  Sir,  whenever  you  have  oc 
casion  to  make  a  list  of  the  friends  who  will  stand  by 
you,  right  or  wrong — h-write  the  name  of  Citizen  Agri- 
cola  Fusilier  at  the  top  !  Write  it  large  and  repeat  it 
at  the  bottom  !  You*  understand  me,  Joseph  ? — and, 
mark  me, — right  or  wrong  !  " 

"  Not  wrong,"  said  Frowenfeld,  "  at  least  not  in  de 
fence  of  wrong  ;  I  could  not  do  that ;  but,  I  assure  you, 
in  this  matter  I  have  done " 

"  No  worse  than  any  one  else  would  have  done  under 
the  circumstances,  my  dear  boy  ! — Nay,  nay,  do  not  in 
terrupt  me  ;  I  understand  you,  I  understand  you.  H-do 
you  imagine  there  is  anything  strange  to  me  in  this — at 
my  age  ?  " 

13* 


298  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"But  I  am " 


" all  right,  sir  !  that  is  what  you  are.  And  you 

are  under  the  wing  of  Agricola  Fusilier,  the  old  eagle ; 
that  is  where  you  are.  And  you  are  one  of  my  brood  ; 
that  is  who  you  are.  Professor,  listen  to  your  old  father. 
The — man — makes — the — crime!  The  wisdom  of  man 
kind  never  brought  forth  a  maxim  of  more  gigantic 
beauty.  If  the  different  grades  of  race  and  society  did 
not  have  corresponding  moral  and  civil  liberties,  vary 
ing  in  degree  as  they  vary — h-why  !  this  community,  at 
least,  would  go  to  pieces  !  See  here  !  Professor  Frow- 
enfeld  is  charged  with  misdemeanor.  Very  well,  who 
is  he  ?  Foreigner  or  native  ?  Foreigner  by  sentiment 
and  intention,  or  only  by  accident  of  birth  ?  Of  our 
mental  fibre — our  aspirations — our  delights — our  indig 
nations  ?  I  answer  for  you,  Joseph,  yes  ! — yes  !  What 
then  ?  H-why  then  the  decision  !  Reached  how  ?  By 
apologetic  reasonings  ?  By  instinct,  sir  !  h-h-that  guide 
of  the  nobly  proud  !  And  what  is  the  decision  ?  Not 
guilty.  Professor  Frowenfeld,  absolvo  te  !  " 

It  was  in  vain  that  the  apothecary  repeatedly  tried  to 
interrupt  this  speech.  "  Citizen  Fusilier,  do  you  know 
me  no  better?" — "  Citizen  Fusilier,  if  you  will  but  lis 
ten  !  "  —  such  were  the  fragments  of  his  efforts  to  ex 
plain.  The  old  man  was  not  so  confident  as  he  pre 
tended  to  be  that  Frowenfeld  was  that  complete  prose 
lyte  which  alone  satisfies  a  Creole  ;  but  he  saw  him  in  a 
predicament  and  cast  to  him  this  life-buoy,  which  if  a 
man  should  refuse,  he  would  deserve  to  drown. 

Frowenfeld  tried  again  to  begin. 

"  Mr.  Fusilier— 

"  £Y/izen  Fusilier  !  " 

"  Citizen,  candor  demands  that  I  undeceive " 


TESTS   OF  FRIENDSHIP.  2Q9 

"  Candor  demands — h-my  dear  Professor,  let  me  tell 
you  exactly  what  she  demands.  She  demands  that  in  here 
—within  this  apartment — we  understand  each  other. 
That  demand  is  met." 

"  But —      "  Frowenfeld  frowned  impatiently. 

"  That  'demand,  Joseph,  is  fully  met!  I  understand 
the  whole  matter  like  an  eye-witness  !  Now  there  is 
another  demand  to  be  met,  the  demand  of  friendship  ! 
In  here,  candor  ;  outside,  friendship  ;  in  here,  one  of 
our  brethren  has  been  adventurous  and  unfortunate  ; 
outside  " — the  old  man  smiled  a  smile  of  benevolent 
mendacity — "outside,  nothing  has  happened." 

Frowenfeld  insisted  savagely  on  speaking  ;  but  Agri- 
cola  raised  his  voice,  and  gray  hairs  prevailed. 

"  At  least,  what  has  happened  ?  The  most  ordinary 
thing  in  the  world  ;  Professor  Frowenfeld  lost  his  foot 
ing  on  a  slippery  gunwale,  fell,  cut  his  head  upon  a  pro 
truding  spike,  and  went  into  the  house  of  Palmyre  to 
bathe  his  wound  ;  but  rinding  it  worse  than  he  had  at 
first  supposed  it,  immediately  hurried  out  again  and 
came  to  his  store.  He  left  his  hat  where  it  had  fallen, 
too  muddy  to  be  worth  recovery.  Hippolyte  Brahmin- 
Mandarin  and  others,  passing  at  the  time,  thought 
he  had  met  with  violence  in  the  house  of  the  hair 
dresser,  and  drew  some  natural  inferences,  but  have 
since  been  better  informed  ;  and  the  public  will  please 
understand  that  Professor  Frowenfeld  is  a  white  man,  a 
gentleman,  and  a  Louisianian,  ready  to  vindicate  his 
honor,  and  that  Citizen  Agricola  Fusilier  is  his  friend  !  " 

The  old  man  looked  around  with  the  air  of  a  bull  on 
a  hill-top. 

Frowenfeld,  vexed  beyond  degree,  restrained  him 
self  only  for  the  sake  of  an  object  in  view,  and  con- 


3OO  THE    GRANDISS1MES. 

tented  himself  with  repeating  for  the  fourth  or  fifth 
time, — 

"  I  cannot  accept  any  such  deliverance." 

"  Professor  Fro wenfeld,  friendship — society — demands 
it  ;  our  circle  must  be  protected  in  all  its  members. 
You  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  You  will  leave  it  with 
me,  Joseph." 

"No,  no,"  said  Frowenfeld,  "  I  thank  you,  but " 

"  Ah  !  my  dear  boy,  thank  me  not ;  I  cannot  help 
these  impulses  ;  I  belong  to  a  warm-hearted  race.  But  " 
— he  drew  back  in  his  chair  sidewise  and  made  great 
pretence  of  frowning — "you  decline  the  offices  of  that 
precious  possession,  a  Creole  friend  ?  " 

"  I  only  decline  to  be  shielded  by  a  fiction." 

"Ah-h!"  said  Agricola,  further  nettling  his  victim 
by  a  gaze  of  stagy  admiration.  " '  Sans  pcur  ct  sans 
rcproche  ' — and  yet  you  disappoint  me.  Is  it  for  naught, 
that  I  have  sallied  forth  from  home,  drawing  the  cur 
tains  of  my  carriage  to  shield  me  from  the  gazing 
crowd  ?  It  was  to  rescue  my  friend — my  vicar — my  co 
adjutor — my  son,  from  the  laughs  and  finger-points  of 
the  vulgar  mass.  H-I  might  as  well  have  stayed  at  home 
— or  better,  for  my  peculiar  position  to-day  rather  re 
quires  me  to  keep  in — 

"  No,  citizen,"  said  Frowenfeld,  laying  his  hand  upon 
Agricola's  arm,  "  I  trust  it  is  not  in  vain  that  you  have 
come  out.  There  is  a  man  in  trouble  whom  only  you 
can  deliver." 

The  old  man  began  to  swell  with  complacency. 

"  H-why,  really— 

"  He,  Citizen,  is  truly  of  your  kind— 


"  He  must  be  delivered,  Professor  Frowenfeld- 


He  is   a  native   Louisianian,   not  only  by  accident 


TESTS   OF  FRIENDSHIP.  3OI 

of  birth  but  by  sentiment  and  intention,"  said  Frowen- 
feld. 

The  old  man  smiled  a  benign  delight,  but  the  apothe 
cary  now  had  the  upper  hand,  and  would  not  hear  him 
speak. 

"His  aspirations,"  continued  the  speaker,  "his  in 
dignations — mount  with  his  people's.  His  pulse  beats 
with  yours,  sir.  He  is  a  part  of  your  circle.  He  is  one 
of  your  caste." 

Agricola  could  not  be  silent. 

"  Ha-a-a-ah  !  Joseph,  h-h-you  make  my  blood  tingle  ! 
Speak  to  the  point  ;  who — 

"  I  believe  him,  moreover,  Citizen  Fusilier,  innocent 
of  the  charge  laid " 

"  H-innocent  ?  H-of  course  he  is  innocent,  sir  !  We 
will  make  him  inno " 

"  Ah  !  Citizen,  he  is  already  under  sentence  of 
death  !  " 

"  What?  A  Creole  under  sentence!"  Agricola 
swore  a  heathen  oath,  set  his  knees  apart  and  grasped 
his  staff  by  the  middle.  "  Sir,  we  will  liberate  him  if 
we  have  to  overturn  the  government  !  " 

Frowenfeld  shook  his  head. 

"  You  have  got  to  overturn  something  stronger  than 
government." 

"  And  pray  what — 

"A  conventionality,"  said  Frowenfeld,  holding  the 
old  man's  eye. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  my  b-hoy,  h-you  are  right.  But  we  will 
overturn — eh  ?  " 

"  I  say  I  fear  your  engagements  will  prevent.  I  hear 
you  take  part  to-morrow  morning  in " 

Agricola  suddenly  stiffened. 


302  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  Professor  Frowenfeld,  it  strikes  me,  sir,  you  are 
taking  something  of  a  liberty." 

"  For  which  I  ask  pardon,"  exclaimed  Frowenfeld. 
"  Then  I  may  not  expect — 

The  old  man  melted  again. 

"  But  who  is  this  person  in  mortal  peril  ?  " 

Frowenfeld  hesitated. 

"Citizen  Fusilier,"  he  said,  looking  first  down  at  the 
floor  and  then  up  into  the  inquirer's  face,  "  on  my  assur 
ance  that  he  is  not  only  a  native  Creole,  but  a  Grandis- 
sime " 

"  It  is  not  possible  !  "   exclaimed  Agricola. 

" a  Grandissime  of  the  purest  blood,  will  you 

pledge  me  your  aid  to  liberate  him  from  his  danger, 
'  right  or  wrong  ?  ' ' 

"  Will  I  ?     H-why,  certainly  !     Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Citizen it  is  Sylves ' 

Agricola  sprang  up  with  a  thundering  oath. 

The  apothecary  put  out  a  pacifying  hand,  but  it  was 
spurned. 

"  Let  me  go  !  How  dare  you,  sir?  How  dare  you, 
sir  ?  "  bellowed  Agricola. 

He  started  toward  the  door,  cursing  furiously  and 
keeping  his  eye  fixed  on  Frowenfeld  with  a  look  of  rage 
not  unmixed  with  terror. 

"  Citizen  Fusilier,"  said  the  apothecary,  following  him 
with  one  palm  uplifted,  as  if  that  would  ward  off  his 
abuse,  "don't  go!  I  adjure  you,  don't  go!  Remem 
ber  your  pledge,  Citizen  Fusilier!  " 

Agricola  did  not  pause  a  moment ;  but  when  he  had 
swung  the  door  violently  open  the  way  was  still  ob 
structed.  The  painter  of  "Louisiana  refusing  to  enter 
the  Union  "  stood  before  him,  his  head  elevated  loftily, 


TESTS   OF  FRIENDSHIP.  303 

one  foot  set  forward  and  his  arm  extended  like  a 
tragedian's. 

"  Stan'  bag-sah  !  " 

"  Let  me  pass  !     Let  me  pass,  or  I  will  kill  you  !  " 

Mr.  Innerarity  smote  his  bosom  and  tossed  his  hand 
aloft. 

"  Kill  me-firse  an'  pass  aftah  !  " 

"  Citizen  Fusilier,"  said  Frowenfeld,  "  I  beg  you  to 
hear  me." 

"  Go  away  !     Go  away  !  " 

The  old  man  drew  back  from  the  door  and  stood  in 
the  corner  against  the  book-shelves  as  if  all  the  horrors 
of  the  last  night's  dreams  had  taken  bodily  shape  in  the 
person  of  the  apothecary.  He  trembled  and  stammered  : 

"  Ke— keep  off!  Keep  off!  My  God  !  Raoul,  he 
has  insulted  me  !  "  He  made  a  miserable  show  of  draw 
ing  a  weapon.  "No  man  may  insult  me  and  live  !  If 
you  are  a  man,  Professor  Frowenfeld,  you  will  defend 
yourself ! " 

Frowenfeld  lost  his  temper,  but  his  hasty  reply  was 
drowned  by  Raoul's  vehement  speech. 

"  'Tis  not  de  trute  !  "  cried  Raoul.  "  He  try  to  save 
you  from  hell-'n'-damnation  w'en  'e  h-ought  to  give  you 
a  good  cuss'n  !  " — and  in  the  ecstasy  of  his  anger  burst 
into  tears. 

Frowenfeld,  in  an  agony  of  annoyance,  waved  him 
away  and  he  disappeared,  shutting  the  door. 

Agricola,  moved  far  more  from  within  than  from  with 
out,  had  sunk  into  a  chair  under  the  shelves.  His  head 
was  bowed,  a  heavy  grizzled  lock  fell  down  upon  his 
dark,  frowning  brow,  one  hand  clenched  the  top  of  his 
staff,  the  other  his  knee,  and  both  trembled  violently. 
As  Frowenfeld,  with  every  demonstration  of  beseeching 


304  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

kindness  began  to  speak,  he  lifted  his  eyes  and  said, 
piteously  : 

"  Stop  !     Stop  !  " 

"  Citizen  Fusilier,  it  is  you  who  must  stop.  Stop 
before  God  Almighty  stops  you,  I  beg  you.  I  do  not 
presume  to  rebuke  you.  I  know  you  want  a  clear  record. 
I  know  it  better  to-day  than  I  ever  did  before.  Citizen 
Fusilier,  I  honor  your  intentions " 

Agricola  roused  a  little  and  looked  up  with  a  miserable 
attempt  at  his  habitual  patronizing  smile. 

"  H-my  dear  boy,  I  overlook  " — but  he  met  in  Frow- 
enfeld's  eyes  a  spirit  so  superior  to  his  dissimulation  that 
the  smile  quite  broke  down  and  gave  way  to  another  of 
deprecatory  and  apologetic  distress.  He  reached  up  an 
arm. 

"  I  could  easily  convince  you,  Professor,  of  your 
error " — his  eyes  quailed  and  dropped  to  the  floor — 
"but  I — your  arm,  my  dear  Joseph;  age  is  creeping 
upon  me."  He  rose  to  his  feet.  "  I  am  feeling  really 
indisposed  to-day — not  at  all  bright ;  my  solicitude  for 
you,  my  dear  b — 

He  took  two  or  three  steps  forward,  tottered,  clung 
to  the  apothecary,  moved  another  step  or  two,  and 
grasping  the  edge  of  the  table  stumbled  into  a  chair 
which  Frowenfeld  thrust  under  him.  He  folded  his 
arms  on  the  edge  of  the  board  and  rested  his  forehead  on 
them,  while  Frowenfeld  sat  down  quickly  on  the  oppo 
site  side,  drew  paper  and  pen  across  the  table  and  wrote. 

"  Are  you  writing  something,  Professor  ?"  asked  the 
old  man,  without  stirring.  His  staff  tumbled  to  the 
floor.  The  apothecary's  answer  was  a  low,  preoccupied 
one.  Two  or  three  times  over  he  wrote  and  rejected 
what  he  had  written. 


TESTS   OF  FRIENDSHIP.  305 

Presently  he  pushed  back  his  chair,  came  around  the 
table,  laid  the  writing  he  had  made  before  the  bowed 
head,  sat  down  again  and  waited. 

After  a  long  time  the  old  man  looked  up,  trying  in 
vain  to  conceal  his  anguish  under  a  smile. 

"  I  have  a  sad  headache." 

He  cast  his  eyes  over  the  table  and  took  mechanically 
the  pen  which  Frowenfeld  extended  toward  him. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Professor  ?  Sign  something  ? 
There  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  for  Professor  Frowen 
feld.  What  have  you  written,  eh  ?  " 

He  felt  helplessly  for  his  spectacles. 

Frowenfeld  read : 

"  Mr.  Sylvestre  Grandissime :  I  spoke  in  haste" 

He  felt  himself  tremble  as  he  read.  Agricola  fumbled 
with  the  pen,  lifted  his  eyes  with  one  more  effort  at  the 
old  look,  said : 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  do  this  purely  to  please  you,"  and 
to  Frowenfeld's  delight  and  astonishment  wrote : 

"  Your  affectionate  uncle,  Agricola  Fusilier.'* 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

LOUISIANA  STATES   HER  WANTS. 

"  'SiEUR  FROWENFEL',"  said  Raoul  as  that  person 
turned  in  the  front  door  of  the  shop  after  watching 
Agricola's  carriage  roll  away — he  had  intended  to  un 
burden  his  mind  to  the  apothecary  with  all  his  natural 
impetuosity  ;  but  Frowenfeld's  gravity  as  he  turned, 
with  the  paper  in  his  hand,  induced  a  different  manner. 
Raoul  had  learned,  despite  all  the  impulses  of  his  nature, 
to  look  upon  Frowenfeld  with  a  sort  of  enthusiastic  awe. 
He  dropped  his  voice  and  said — asking  like  a  child  a 
question  he  was  perfectly  able  to  answer — 

"  What  de  matta  wid  Agricole  ?  " 

Frowenfeld,  for  the  moment  well-nigh  oblivious  of  his 
own  trouble,  turned  upon  his  assistant  a  look  in  which 
elation  was  oddly  blended  with  solemnity,  and  replied 
as  he  walked  by  : 

"  Rush  of  truth  to  the  heart." 

Raoul  followed  a  step. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel'— 

The  apothecary  turned  once  more.  Raoul's  face  bore 
an  expression  of  earnest  practicability  that  invited  con 
fidence. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  Agricola  writ'n'  to  Sylvestre  to 
stop  dat  dool  ?  " 

"Yes." 


LOUISIANA   STATES  HER    WANTS.  3O/ 

"  You  goin'  take  dat  lett'  to  Sylvestre  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  dat  de  wrong  g-way.  You  got  to 
take  it  to  Tolyte  Brahmin-Mandarin,  an'  'e  got  to  take 
it  to  Valentine  Grandissime,  an'  'e  got  to  take  it  to  Syl 
vestre.  You  see,  you  got  to  know  de  manner  to  make. 
Once  'pon  a  time  I  had  a  diffycultie  wid— 

"I  see,"  said  Frowenfeld ;  "where  may  I  find  Hip- 
polyte  Brahmin-Mandarin  at  this  time  of  day  ?  " 

Raoul  shrugged. 

"  If  the  pre-parish-ions  are  not  complitted,  you  will  not 
find  'im  ;  but  if  they  har  complitted — you  know  'im  ?  " 

"  By  sight." 

"  Well,  you  may  fine  him  at  Maspero's,  or  helse  in  de 
front  of  de  Veau-qui-tete,  or  helse  at  the  Cafe  Louis 
Quatorze — mos'  likely  in  front  of  de  Veau-qui-tete. 
You  know,  dat  diffycultie  I  had,  dat  arise  itseff  from  de 
discush'n  of  one  of  de  mil-littery  mov'ments  of  ca-valry  ; 
you  know,  I— 

"Yes,"  said  the  apothecary;  "here,  Raoul,  is  some 
money  ;  please  go  and  buy  me  a  good,  plain  hat." 

"  All  right."  Raoul  darted  behind  the  counter  and  got 
his  hat  out  of  a  drawer.  ' '  Were  at  you  buy  your  hats  ?  " 

"Anywhere." 

"  I  will  go  at  my  hatter." 

As  the  apothecary  moved  about  his  shop  awaiting 
Raoul's  return,  his  own  disaster  became  once  more  the 
subject  of  his  anxiety.  He  noticed  that  almost  every 
person  who  passed  looked  in.  "This  is  the  place," — 
"  That  is  the  man," — how  plainly  the  glances  of  passers 
sometimes  speak  !  The  people  seemed,  moreover,  a 
little  nervous.  Could  even  so  little  a  city  be  stirred 


308  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

about  such  a  petty,  private  trouble  as  this  of  his  ?     No  ; 
the  city  was  having  tribulations  of  its  own. 

New  Orleans  was  in  that  state  of  suppressed  excite 
ment  which,  in  later  days,  a  frequent  need  of  reassuring 
the  outer  world  has  caused  to  be  described  by  the 
phrase  "  never  more  peaceable."  Raoul  perceived  it 
before  he  had  left  the  shop  twenty  paces  behind.  By 
the  time  he  reached  the  first  corner  he  was  in  the  swirl 
of  the  popular  current.  He  enjoyed  it  like  a  strong 
swimmer.  He  even  drank  of  it.  It  was  better  than 
wine  and  music  mingled. 

"  Twelve  weeks  next  Thursday,  and  no  sign  of  re 
cession  !  "  said  one  of  two  rapid  walkers  just  in  front  of 
him.  Their  talk  was  in  the  French  of  the  province. 

"  Oh,  re-cession  !  "  exclaimed  the  other  angrily.  "The 
cession  is  a  reality.  That,  at  least,  we  have  got  to  swal 
low.  Incredulity  is  dead." 

The  first  speaker's  feelings  could  find  expression  only 
in  profanity. 

"  The  cession — we  wash  our  hands  of  it  !  "  He  turned 
partly  around  upon  «his  companion,  as  they  hurried 
along,  and  gave  his  hands  a  vehement  dry  washing. 
"  If  Incredulity  is  dead,  Non-participation  reigns  in  its 
stead,  and  Discontent  is  prime  minister !  "  He  brand 
ished  his  fist  as  they  turned  a  corner. 

"If  we  must  change,  let  us  be  subjects  of  the  First 
Consul  !  "  said  one  of  another  pair  whom  Raoul  met  on 
a  crossing. 

There  was  a  gathering  of  boys  and  vagabonds  at  the 
door  of  a  gun-shop.  A  man  inside  was  buying  a  gun. 
That  was  all. 

A  group  came  out  of  a  "  coffee-house."  The  leader 
turned  about  upon  the  rest : 


LOUISIANA   STATES  HER    WANTS.*  309 


/  cette  Amayrican  libetty  !  " 

"  See  !  see  !  it  is  this  way  !  "  said  another  of  the  num 
ber,  taking  two  others  by  their  elbows,  to  secure  an 
audience,  "we  shall  do  nothing  ourselves  ;  we  are  just 
watching  that  vile  Congress.  It  is  going  to  tear  the 
country  all  to  bits  !  " 

"Ah,  my  friend,  you  haven't  got  the  inside  news," 
said  still  another  —  Raoul  lingered  to  hear  him  —  "  Lou 
isiana  is  going  to  state  her  wants  !  We  have  the  lib 
erty  of  free  speech  and  are  going  to  use  it  !  "  , 

His  information  was  correct  ;  Louisiana,  no  longer 
incredulous  of  her  Americanization,  had  laid  hold  of  her 
new  liberties  and  was  beginning  to  run  with  them,  like 
a  boy  dragging  his  kite  over  the  clods.  She  was  about 
to  state  her  wants,  he  said. 

"And  her  don't-  wants,"  volunteered  one  whose  hand 
Raoul  shook  heartily.  "We  warn  the  world.  If  Con 
gress  doesn't  take  heed,  we  will  not  be  responsible  for 
the  consequences  !  " 

Raoul's  hatter  was  full  of  the  subject.  As  Mr.  Inne- 
rarity  entered,  he  was  saying  good-day  to  a  customer  in 
his  native  tongue,  English,  and.  so  continued: 

"  Yes,  under  Spain  we  had  a  solid,  quiet  government 
—  Ah  !  Mr.  Innerarity,  overjoyed  to  see  you  !  We 
were  speaking  of  these  political  troubles.  I  wish  we 
might  see  the  last  of  them.  It's  a  terrible  bad  mess  ; 
corruption  to-day  —  I  tell  you  what  —  it  will  be  disruption 
to-morrow.  Well,  it  is  no  work  of  ours  ;  we  shall  mere 
ly  stand  off  and  see  it." 

"  Mi-frien',"  said  Raoul,  with  mingled  pity  and  superi 
ority,  "  you  haven't  got  doze  inside  nooz  ;  Louisiana  is 
goin'  to  state  w'at  she  want." 

On  his   way   back   toward   the    shop  Mr.  Innerarity 


310  THE    GRANDISS1MES. 

easily  learned  Louisiana's  wants  and  don't-wants  by 
heart.  She  wanted  a  Creole  governor ;  she  did  not 
want  Casa  Calvo  invited  to  leave  the  country  ;  she 
wanted  the  provisions  of  the  Treaty  of  Cession  hurried 
up;  "as  soon  as  possible,"  that  instrument  said;  she 
had  waited  long  enough  ;  she  did  not  want  "  dat  trile 
bi-ju'y  " — execrable  trash  !  she  wanted  an  unmatched 
import  trade!  she  did  not  want  a  single  additional 
Americain  appointed  to  office  ;  she  wanted  the  slave 
trade. 

Just  in  sight  of  the  bare-headed  and  anxious  Frowen- 
feld,  Raoul  let  himself  be  stopped  by  a  friend. 

The  remark  was  exchanged  that  the  times  were  ex 
citing. 

"  And  yet,"  said  the  friend,  "  the  city  was  never  more 
peaceable.  It  is  exasperating  to  see  that  coward  gover 
nor  looking  so  diligently  after  his  police  and  hurrying  on 
the  organization  of  the  Americain  volunteer  militia  !  " 
He  pointed  savagely  here  and  there.  "  M.  Innerarity, 
I  am  lost  in  admiration  at  the  all  but  craven  patience 
with  which  our  people  endure  their  wrongs  !  Do  my 
pistols  show  too  much  through  my  coat  ?  Well,  good- 
day  ;  I  must  go  home  and  clean  my  gun  ;  my  dear 
friend,  one  don't  know  how  soon  he  may  have  to  en 
counter  the  Recorder  and  Register  of  Land-titles." 

Raoul  finished  his  errand. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  excuse  me — I  take  dat  lett'  to 
'Polyte  for  you  if  you  want."  There  are  times  when 
mere  shop-keeping — any  peaceful  routine — is  torture. 

But  the  apothecary  felt  so  himself;  he  declined  his 
assistant's  offer  and  went  out  toward  the  Veau-qui-tete. 


CHAPTER   XL. 

FROWENFELD   FINDS   SYLVESTRE. 

THE  Veau-qui-tete  restaurant  occupied  the  whole 
ground  floor  of  a  small,  low,  two-story,  tile-roofed, 
brick-and-stucco  building  which  still  stands  on  the  cor 
ner  of  Chartres  and  St.  Peter  streets,  in  company  with 
the  well-preserved  old  Cabildo  and  the  young  Cathedral, 
reminding  one  of  the  shabby  and  swarthy  Creoles  whom 
we  sometimes  see  helping  better  kept  kinsmen  to  mur 
der  time  on  the  banquettes  of  the  old  French  Quarter. 
It  was  a  favorite  rendezvous  of  the  higher  classes,  con 
venient  to  the  court-rooms  and  municipal  bureaus. 
There  you  found  the  choicest  legal  and  political  gossips, 
with  the  best  the  market  afforded  of  meat  and  drink. 

Frowenfeld  found  a  considerable  number  of  persons 
there.  He  had  to  move  about  among  them  to  some  ex 
tent,  to  make  sure  he  was  not  overlooking  the  object  of 
his  search. 

As  he  entered  the  door,  a  man  sitting  near  it  stopped 
talking,  gazed  rudely  as  he  passed,  and  then  leaned 
across  the  table  and  smiled  and  murmured  to  his  com 
panion.  The  subject  of  his  jest  felt  their  four  eyes  on 
his  back. 

There  was  a  loud  buzz  of  conversation  throughout  the 
room,  but  wherever  he  went  a  wake  of  momentary 
silence  followed  him,  and  once  or  twice  he  saw  elbows 


312  THE    GRAtfDZSSIMES. 

nudged.  He  perceived  that  there  wq£  something  in  the 
state  of  mind  of  these  good  citizens  that  made  the  pres 
ent  sight  of  him  particularly  discordant. 

Four  men,  leaning  or  standing  at  a  small  bar,  were 
talking  excitedly  in  the  Creole  patois.  They  made  fre 
quent  anxious,  yet  amusedly  defiant,  mention  of  a  cer 
tain  Pointe  Canadienne.  It  was  a  portion  of  the  Missis 
sippi  River  "  coast"  not  far  above  New  Orleans,  where 
the  merchants  of  the  city  met  the  smugglers  who  came 
up  from  the  Gulf  by  way  of  Barrataria  bay  and  the 
bayou.  These  four  men  did  not  call  it  by  the  proper 
title  just  given  ;  there  were  commercial  gentlemen  in  the 
Creole  city,  Englishmen,  Scotchmen,  Yankees,  as  well 
as  French  and  Spanish  Creoles,  who  in  public  indig 
nantly  denied,  and  in  private  tittered  over,  their  com 
plicity  with  the  pirates  of  Grand  Isle,  and  who  knew 
their  trading  rendezvous  by  the  sly  nickname  of  "  Little 
Manchac."  As  Frowenfeld  passed  these  four  men  they, 
too,  ceased  speaking  and  looked  after  him,  three  with 
offensive  smiles  and  one  with  a  stare  of  contempt. 

Farther  on,  some  Creoles  were  talking  rapidly  to  an 
Ame"ricain,  in  English. 

"  And  why  ?  "  one  was  demanding  ;  "  because  money 
is  scarce.  Under  other  governments  we  had  any  quan 
tity  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  venturesome  Ame'ricain  in  retort, 
"  such  as  it  was  ;  assignats,  liber  anzas,  bons — Claiborne 
will  give  us  better  money  than  that  when  he  starts  his 
bank." 

"  Hah  !  his  bank,  yes  !  John  Law  once  had  a  bank, 
too  ;  ask  my  old  father.  What  do  we  want  with  a  bank  ? 
Down  with  banks  !  "  The  speaker  ceased  ;  he  had  not 
finished,  but  he  saw  the  apothecary.  Frowenfeld  heard 


FROWENFELD   FINDS  SYLVESTRE.  313 

a  muttered  curse,  an  inarticulate  murmur,  and  then  a 
loud  burst  oflaughter. 

A  tall,  slender  young  Creole  whom  he  knew,  and  who 
had  always  been  greatly  pleased  to  exchange  salutations, 
brushed  against  him  without  turning  his  eyes. 

"  You  know,"  he  was  saying  to  a  companion,  "  every 
body  in  Louisiana  is  to  be  a  citizen,  except  the  negroes 
and  mules  ;  that  is  the  kind  of  liberty  they  give  us — all 
eat  out  of  one  trough." 

"  What  we  want,"  said  a  dark,  ill-looking,  but  finely- 
dressed  man,  setting  his  claret  down,  "  and  what  we 
have  got  to  have,  is" — he  was  speaking  in  French,  but 
gave  the  want  in  English — "  Representesh'n  wizout 
Taxa—  There  his  eye  fell  upon  Frowenfeld  and 

followed  him  with  a  scowl. 

"  Mah  frang,"  he  said  to  his  table  companion,  "  wass 
you  sink  of  a  mane  w'at  hask-a  one  nee-grow  to  'ave-a 
one  shair  wiz  'im,  eh  ? — in  ze  sem  room  ?  " 

The  apothecary  found  that  his  fame  was  far  wider  and 
more  general  than  he  had  supposed.  He  turned  to  go 
out,  bowing  as  he  did  so,  to  an  Americain  merchant  with 
whom  he  had  some  acquaintance. 

"Sir?"  asked  the  merchant,  with  severe  politeness, 
"wish  to  see  me?  I  thought  you As  I  was  say 
ing,  gentlemen,  what,  after  all,  does  it  sum  up  ?  " 

A  Creole  interrupted  him  with  an  answer : 

"  Leetegash'n,  Spoleeash'n,  Pahtitsh'n,  Disintegrha- 
sh'n  !  " 

The  voice  was  like  Honore's.  Frowenfeld  looked  ;  it 
was  Agamemnon  Grandissime. 

"  I  must  go  to  Maspero's,"  thought  the  apothecary, 
and  he  started  up  the  rue  Chartres.  As  he  turned  into 
the  rue  St.  Louis,  he  suddenly  found  himself  one  of  a 
14 


3  H  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

crowd  standing  before  a  newly-posted  placard,  and  at  a 
glance  saw  it  to  be  one  of  the  inflammatory  publications 
which  were  a  feature  of  the  times,  appearing  both  daily 
and  nightly  on  walls  and  fences. 

"  One  Amerry-can  pull'  it  down,  an'  Camille  Brahmin 
'e  pas'e  it  back,"  said  a  boy  at  Frowenfeld's  side. 

Exchange  Alley  was  once  Passage  de  la  Bourse,  and 
led  down  (as  it  now  does  to  the  State  House — late  St. 
Louis  Hotel)  to  an  establishment  which  seems  to  have 
served  for  a  long  term  of  years  as  a  sort  of  merchants' 
and  auctioneers'  coffee-house,  with  a  minimum  of  china 
and  a  maximum  of  glass  :  Maspero's — certainly  Maspe- 
ro's  as  far  back  as  1810,  and,  we  believe,  Maspero's  the 
day  the  apothecary  entered  it,  March  9,  1804.  It  was 
a  livelier  spot  than  the  Veau-qui-tete ;  it  was  to  that 
what  commerce  is  to  litigation,  what  standing -and  quaff 
ing  is  to  sitting  and  sipping.  Whenever  the  public  mind 
approached  that  sad  state  of  public  sentiment  in  which 
sanctity  signs  politicians'  memorials  and  chivalry  breaks 
into  the  gun-shops,  a  good  place  to  feel  the  thump  of  the 
machinery  was  in  Maspero's. 

The  first  man  Frowenfeld  saw  as  he  entered  was  M. 
Valentine  Grandissime.  There  was  a  double  semi-circle 
of  gazers  and  listeners  in  front  of  him  ;  he  was  talking, 
with  much  show  of  unconcern,  in  Creole  French. 

"  Policy  ?  I  care  little  about  policy."  He  waved  his 
hand.  "  I  know  my  rights — and  Louisiana's.  We  have 
a  right  to  our  opinions.  We  have  " — with  a  quiet  smile 
and  an  upward  turn  of  his  extended  palm — "  a  right  to 
protect  them  from  the  attack  of  interlopers,  even  if  we 
have  to  use  gunpowder.  I  do  not  propose  to  abridge 
the  liberties  of  even  this  army  of  fortune-hunters.  Let 
them  think."  He  half  laughed.  "  Who  cares  whether 


FROWENFELD  FINDS  SYLVESTRE.  31 5 

they  share  our  opinions  or  not  ?  Let  them  have  their 
own.  I  had  rather  they  would.  But  let  them  hold 
their  tongues.  Let  them  remember  they  are  Yankees. 
Let  them  remember  they  are  unbidden  guests."  All 
this  without  the  least  warmth. 

But  the  answer  came  aglow  with  passion,  from  one  of 
the  semicircle,  whom  two  or  three  seemed  disposed  to 
hold  in  check.  It  also  was  in  French,  but  the  apothecary 
was  astonished  to  hear  his  own  name  uttered. 

"But  this  fellow  Frowenfeld  " — the  speaker  did  not 
see  Joseph—"  has  never  held  his  tongue.  He  has  given 
us  good  reason  half  a  dozen  times,  with  his  too  free 
speech  and  his  high  moral  whine,  to  hang  him  with  the 
lamp-post  rope  !  And  now,  when  we  have  borne  and 
borne  and  borne  and  borne  with  him,  and  he  shows  up, 
all  at  once,  in  all  his  rottenness,  you  say  let  him  alone ! 
One  would  think  you  were  defending  Honore  Grandis- 
sime  !  "  The  back  of  one  of  the  speaker's  hands  fluttered 
in  the  palm  of  the  other. 

Valentine  smiled. 

"  Honore  Grandissime  ?  Boy,  you  do  not  know  what 
you  are  talking  about.  Not  Honore,  ha,  ha  !  A  man 
who,  upon  his  own  avowal,  is  guilty  of  affiliating  with 
the  Yankees.  A  man  whom  we  have  good  reason  to 
suspect  of  meditating  his  family's  dishonor  and  embar 
rassment  !  "  Somebody  saw  the  apothecary  and  laid  a 
cautionary  touch  on  Valentine's  arm,  but  he  brushed  it 
off.  "  As  for  Professor  Frowenfeld,  he  must  defend 
himself/' 

"  Ha-a-a-ah  !  " — a  general  cry  of  derision  from  the  lis 
teners. 

"Defend  himself?"  exclaimed  their  spokesman; 
"  shall  I  tell  you  again  what  he  is  ?  "  In  his  vehemence, 


3l6  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

the  speaker  wagged  his  chin  and  held  his  clenched  fists 
stiffly  toward  the  floor.  "  He  is — he  is — he  is — 

He  paused,  breathing  like  a  fighting  dog.  Frowen- 
feld,  large,  white,  and  immovable,  stood  close  before 
him. 

"  Dey  'ad  no  bizniz  led  'im  come  oud  to-day,"  said  a 
bystander,  edging  toward  a  pillar. 

The  Creole,  a  small  young  man  not  unknown  to  us, 
glared  upon  the  apothecary ;  but  Frowenfeld  was  far 
above  his  blushing  mood,  and  was  not  disconcerted. 
This  exasperated  the  Creole  beyond  bound  ;  he  made  a 
sudden,  angry  change  of  attitude,  and  demanded  : 

"  Do  you  interrup'  two  gen'lemen  in  dey  conve'sition, 
you  Yankee  clown?  Do  you  igno'  dad  you  'ave  insult 
me,  off-scow'ing  ?  " 

Frowenfeld's  first  response  was  a  stern  gaze.  When 
he  spoke,  he  said  : 

"  Sir,  I  am  not  aware  that  I  have  ever  offered  you  the 
slightest  injury  or  affront ;  if  you  wish  to  finish  your  con 
versation  with  this  gentleman,  I  will  wait  till  you  are 
through." 

The  Creole  bowed,  as  a  knight  who  takes  up  the  gage. 
He  turned  to  Valentine. 

"Valentine,  I  was  sayin'  to  you  dad  diz  pusson  is  a 
cowa'd  and  a  sneak  ;  I  repead  thad !  I  repead  id  !  I 
spurn  you  !  Go  fom  yeh  !  " 

The  apothecary  stood  like  a  cliff. 

It  was  too  much  for  Creole  forbearance.  His  adver 
sary,  with  a  long  snarl  of  oaths,  sprang  forward  and  with 
a  great  sweep  of  his  arm  slapped  the  apothecary  on  the 
cheek.  And  then — 

What  a  silence  ! 

Frowenfeld   had  advanced   one    step ;    his    opponent 


FROWENFELD  FINDS  SYLVESTRE,'  3 1/ 

stood  half  turned  away,  but  with  his  face  toward  the  face 
he  had  just  struck  and  his  eyes  glaring  up  into  the  eyes 
of  the  apothecary.  The  semicircle  was  dissolved,  and 
each  man  stood  in  neutral  isolation,  motionless  and 
silent.  For  one  instant  objects  lost  all  natural  propor 
tion,  and  to  the  expectant  on-lookers  the  largest  thing  in 
the  room  was  the  big,  upraised,  white  fist  of  Frowenfeld. 
But  in  the  next — how  was  this  ?  Could  it  be  that  that 
fist  had  not  descended  ? 

The  imperturbable  Valentine,  with  one  preventing  arm 
laid  across  the  breast  of  the  expected  victim  and  an  open 
hand  held  restrainingly  up  for  truce,  stood  between  the 
two  men  and  said  : 

"  Professor  Frowenfeld — one  moment — " 

Frowenfeld's  face  was  ashen. 

"Don't  speak,  sir!"  he  exclaimed.  "  If  I  attempt 
to  parley  I  shall  break  every  bone  in  his  body.  Don't 
speak  !  I  can  guess  your  explanation — he  is  drunk. 
But  take  him  away." 

Valentine,  as  sensible  as  cool,  assisted  by  the  kinsman 
who  had  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm,  shuffled  his  enraged 
companion  out.  Frowenfeld's  still  swelling  anger  was 
so  near  getting  the  better  of  him  that  he  unconsciously 
followed  a  quick  step  or  two  ;  but  as  Valentine  looked 
back  and  waved  him  to  stop,  he  again  stood  still. 

"  Proffesseur — you  know, —  '  said  a  stranger,  "  daz 
Sylvestre  Grandissime." 

Frowenfeld  rather  spoke  to  himself  than  answered  : 

"  If  I  had  not  known  that,  I  should  have—  He 

checked  himself  and  left  the  place. 

While  the  apothecary  was  gathering  these  experiences, 
the  free  spirit  of  Raoul  Innerarity  was  chafing  in  the 


3l8  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

shop  like  an  eagle  in  a  hen-coop.  One  moment  after 
another  brought  him  straggling  evidences,  now  of  one 
sort,  now  of  another,  of  the  "never  more  peaceable" 
state  of  affairs  without.  If  only  some  pretext  could  be 
conjured  up,  plausible  or  flimsy,  no  matter  ;  if  only  some 
man  would  pass  with  a  gun  on  his  shoulder,  were  it  only 
a  blow-gun  ;  or  if  his  employer  were  any  one  but  his  be 
loved  Frowenfeld,  he  would  clap  up  the  shutters  as 
quickly  as  he  had  already  done  once  to-day,  and  be  off  to 
the  wars.  He  was  just  trying  to  hear  imaginary  pistol- 
shots  down  toward  the  Place  d'Armes,  when  the  apothe 
cary  returned. 

"D'you  fin'  him?" 

"I  found  Sylvestre." 

"  'E  took  de  lett'  ?  " 

"I  did  not  offer  it."  Frowenfeld,  in  a  few  compact 
sentences,  told  his  adventure. 

Raoul  was  ablaze  with  indignation. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  gimmy  dat  lett'  !  "  He  extended 
his  pretty  hand. 

Frowenfeld  pondered. 

"  Gimmy  'er  !  "  persisted  the  artist ;  "  befo'  I  lose  de 
sight  from  dat  lett'  she  goin'  to  be  hanswer  by  Sylvestre 
Grandissime,  an'  'e  goin'  to  wrat  you  one  appo-logie  ! 
Oh  !  I  goin'  mek  'im  crah  fo'  shem  !  " 

"  If  I  could  know  you  would  do  only  as  I " 

"  I  do  it !  "  cried  Raoul,  and  sprang  for  his  hat ;  and 
in  the  end  Frowenfeld  let  him  have  his  way. 

"  I  had  intended  seeing  him—  '  the  apothecary 
said. 

"  Nevvamine  to  see  ;  I  goin'  tell  him  !  "  cried  Raoul, 
as  he  crowded  his  hat  fiercely  down  over-his  curls  and 
plunged  out. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

TO   COME   TO   THE   POINT. 

IT  was  equally  a  part  of  Honore  Grandissime's  na 
ture  and  of  his  art  as  a  merchant  to  wear  a  look  of  se 
rene  leisure.  With  this  look  on  his  face  he  re-entered 
his  counting-room  after  his  morning  visit  to  Frowen- 
feld's  shop.  He  paused  a  moment  outside  the  rail,  gave 
the  weak-eyed  gentleman  who  presided  there  a  quiet 
glance  equivalent  to  a  beckon,  and,  as  that  person  came 
near,  communicated  two  or  three  items  of  intelligence 
or  instruction  concerning  office  details,  by  which  that 
invaluable  diviner  of  business  meanings  understood 
that  he  wished  to  be  let  alone  for  an  hour.  Then  M. 
Grandissime  passed  on  into  his  private  office,  and,  shut 
ting  the  door  behind  him,  walked  briskly  to  his  desk 
and  sat  down. 

He  dropped  his  elbows  upon  a  broad  paper  contain 
ing  some  recently  written,  unfinished  memoranda  that 
included  figures  in  column,  cast  his  eyes  quite  around 
the  apartment,  and  then  covered  his  face  with  his  palms — 
a  gesture  common  enough  for  a  tired  man  of  business 
in  a  moment  of  seclusion  ;  but  just  as  the  face  disap 
peared  in  the  hands,  the  look  of  serene  leisure  gave 
place  to  one  of  great  mental  distress.  The  paper  under 
his  elbows,  to  the  consideration  of  which  he  seemed 
about  to  return,  was  in  the  handwriting  of  his  manager, 


320  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

with  additions  by  his  own  pen.  Earlier  in  the  day  he 
had  come  to  a  pause  in  the  making  of  these  additions, 
and,  after  one  or  two  vain  efforts  to  proceed,  had  laid 
down  his  pen,  taken  his  hat,  and  gone  to  see  the  un 
lucky  apothecary.  Now  he  took  up  the  broken  thread. 
To  come  to  a  decision  ;  that  was  the  task  which  forced 
from  him  his  look  of  distress.  He  drew  his  face  slowly 
through  his  palms,  set  his  lips,  cast  up  his  eyes,  knit  his 
knuckles,  and  then  opened  and  struck  his  palms  together, 
as  if  to  say  :  "  Now,  come  ;  let  me  make  up  my  mind." 

There  may  be  men  who  take  every  moral  height  at  a 
dash  ;  but  to  the  most  of  us  there  must  come  moments 
when  our  wills  can  but  just  rise  and  walk  in  their  sleep. 
Those  who  in  such  moments  wait  for  clear  views,  find, 
when  the  issue  is  past,  that  they  were  only  yielding  to 
the  devil's  chloroform. 

Honore  Grandissime  bent  his  eyes  upon  the  paper. 
But  he  saw  neither  its  figures  nor  its  words.  The  inter 
rogation,  "  Surrender  Fausse  Riviere  ?  "  appeared  to  hang 
between  his  eyes  and  the  paper,  and  when  his  resolution 
tried  to  answer  "Yes,"  he  saw  red  flags  ;  he  heard  the 
auctioneer's  drum  ;  he  saw  his  kinsmen  handing  house- 
keys  to  strangers  ;  he  saw  the  old  servants  of  the  great 
family  standing  in  the  market-place  ;  he  saw  kinswomen 
pawning  their  plate  ;  he  saw  his  clerks  (Brahmins,  Man 
darins,  Grandissimes)  standing  idle  and  shabby  in  the 
arcade  of  the  Cabildo  and  on  the  banquette  of  Mas- 
pero's  and  the  Veau  qui-tete  ;  he  saw  red-eyed  young 
men  in  the  Exchange  denouncing  a  man  who,  they  said, 
had,  ostensibly  for  conscience's  sake,  but  really  for  love, 
forced  upon  the  woman  he  had  hoped  to  marry  a  for 
tune  filched  from  his  own  kindred.  He  saw  the  junto 
of  doctors  in  Frowenfeld's  door  charitably  deciding  him 


TO    COME    TO    THE  POINT.  321 

insane  ;  he  saw  the  more  vengeful  of  his  family  seeking 
him  with  half-concealed  weapons ;  he  saw  himself  shot 
at  in  the  rue  Royale,  in  the  rue  Toulouse,  and  in  the 
Place  d'Armes  ;  and,  worst  of  all,  missed. 

But  he  wiped  his  forehead,  and  the  writing  on  the 
paper  became,  in  a  measure,  visible.     He  read  : 


Total  mortgages  on  the  lands  of  all  the  Grandissimes. 
Total  present  value  of  same,  titles  at  buyers'  risk. 

Cash,  goods,  and  account , 

Fausse  Riviere  Plantation  account   . 


There  were  other  items,  but  he  took  up  the  edge  of 
the  paper  mechanically,  pushed  it  slowly  away  from 
him,  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  again  laid  his  hands 
upon  his  face. 

"  Suppose  I  retain  Fausse  Riviere,"  he  said  to  him 
self,  as  if  he  had  not  said  it  many  times  before. 

Then  he  saw  memoranda  that  were  not  on  any  paper 
before  him — such  a  mortgage  to  be  met  on  such  a  date  ; 
so  much  from  Fausse  Riviere  Plantation  account  re 
tained  to  protect  that  mortgage  from  foreclosure  ;  such 
another  to  be  met  on  such  a  date — so  much  more  of 
same  account  to  protect  it.  He  saw  Aurora  and  Clo- 
tilde  Nancanou,  with  anguished  faces,  offering  woman's 
pleadings  to  deaf  constables.  He  saw  the  remainder  of 
Aurora's  plantation  account  thrown  to  the  lawyers  to 
keep  the  question  of  the  Grandissime  titles  languishing 
in  the  courts.  He  saw  the  meanwhile-rallied  fortunes 
of  his  clan  coming  to  the  rescue,  himself  and  kindred 
growing  independent  of  questionable  titles,  and  even 
Fausse  Riviere  Plantation  account  restored,  but  Aurora 
and  Clotilde  nowhere  to  be  found.  And  then  he  saw 
the  grave,  pale  face  of  Joseph  Frowenfeld. 
14* 


322  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

He  threw  himself  forward,  drew  the  paper  nervously 
toward  him,  and  stared  at  the  figures.  He  began  at  the 
first  item  and  went  over  the  whole  paper,  line  by  line, 
testing  every  extension,  proving  every  addition,  noting 
if  possibly  any  transposition  of  figures  had  been  made 
and  overlooked,  if  something  was  added  that  should  have 
been  subtracted,  or  subtracted  that  should  have  been 
added.  It  was  like  a  prisoner  trying  the  bars  of  his 
cell. 

Was  there  no  way  to  make  things  happen  differently  ? 
Had  he  not  overlooked  some  expedient  ?  Was  not  some 
financial  manoeuvre  possible  which  might  compass  both 
desired  ends  ?  He  left  his  chair  and  walked  up  and 
down,  as  Joseph  at  that  very  moment  was  doing  in  the 
room  where  he  had  left  him,  came  back,  looked  at  the 
paper,  and  again  walked  up  and  down.  He  murmured 
now  and  then  to  himself:  "  5<?//"-denial — that  is  not  the 
hard  work.  Penniless  myself — that  is  play,"  and  so  on. 
He  turned  by  and  by  and  stood  looking  up  at  that 
picture  of  the  man  in  the  cuirass  which  Aurora  had  once 
noticed.  He  looked  at  it,  but  he  did  not  see  it.  He  was 
thinking — "  Her  rent  is  due  to-morrow.  She  will  never 
believe  I  am  not  her  landlord.  She  will  never  go  to 
my  half-brother. "  He  turned  once  more  and  mentally 
beat  his  breast  as  he  muttered:  "Why  do  I  not  de 
cide?" 

Somebody  touched  the  door-knob.  Honore  stepped 
forward  and  opened  it.  It  was  a  mortgager. 

"Ah!  entrhez,  Monsieur."1 

He  retained  the  visitor's  hand,  leading  him  in  and 
talking  pleasantly  in  French  until  both  had  found  chairs. 
The  conversation  continued  in  that  tongue  through  such 
pointless  commercial  gossip  as  this  : 


TO    COME    TO    THE  POINT.  323 

"  So  the  brig  Equinox  is  aground  at  the  head  of  the 
Passes,"  said  M.  Grandissime. 

"  I  have  just  heard  she  is  off  again." 

"Aha?" 

"Yes;  the  Fort  Plaquemine  canoe  is  just  up  from 
below.  I  understand  John  McDonough  has  bought  the 
entire  cargo  of  the  schooner  Freedom." 

"  No,  not  all ;  Blanque  et  Fils  bought  some  twenty 
boys  and  women  out  of  the  lot.  Where  is  she  ly 
ing?" 

"  Right  at  the  head  of  the  Basin." 

And  much  more  like  this ;  but  by  and  by  the  mort 
gager  came  to  the  point  with  the  casual  remark  : 

"  The  excitement  concerning  land-titles  seems  to  in 
crease  rather  than  subside." 

"  They  must  have  something  to  be  excited  about,  I 
suppose,"  said  M.  Grandissime,  crossing  his  legs  and 
smiling.  It  was  tradesman's  talk. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  other;  "there  seems  to  be  an 
idea  current  to-day  that  all  holders  under  Spanish  titles 
are  to  be  immediately  dispossessed,  without  ever  process 
of  court.  I  believe  a  very  slight  indiscretion  on  the  part 
of  the  Governor-General  would  precipitate  a  riot." 

"He  will  not  commit  any,"  said  M.  Grandissime  with 
a  quiet  gravity,  changing  his  manner  to  that  of  one  who 
draws  upon  a  reserve  of  private  information.  "  There 
will  be  no  outbreak." 

"  I  suppose  not.  We  do  not  know,  really,  that  the 
American  Congress  will  throw  any  question  upon  titles  ; 
but  still " 

"  What  are  some  of  the  shrewdest  Americans  among 
us  doing?"  asked  M.  Grandissime. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  mortgageor,  "it  is  true  they  are 


324  THE    GRAND1SSIMES. 

buying  these  very  titles  ;  but  they  may  be  making  a 
mistake  ?  " 

Unfortunately  for  the  speaker,  he  allowed  his  face  an 
expression  of  argumentative  shrewdness  as  he  completed 
this  sentence,  and  M.  Grandissime,  the  merchant, 
caught  an  instantaneous  full  view  of  his  motive  ;  he 
wanted  to  buy.  He  was  a  man  whose  known  speculative 
policy  was  to  "  go  in  "  in  moments  of  panic. 

M.  Grandissime  was  again  face  to  face  with  the  ques 
tion  of  the  morning.  To  commence  selling  must  be  to 
go  on  selling.  This,  as  a  plan,  included  restitution  to 
Aurora  ;  but  it  meant  also  dissolution  to  the  Grandis- 
simes,  for  should  their  sold  titles  be  pronounced  bad, 
then  the  titles  of  other  lands  would  be  bad  ;  many  an 
asset  among  M.  Grandissime's  memoranda  would  shrink 
into  nothing,  and  the  meagre  proceeds  of  the  Grandis 
sime  estates,  left  to  meet  the  strain  without  the  aid  of 
Aurora's  accumulated  fortune,  would  founder  in  a  sea 
of  liabilities  ;  while  should  these  titles,  after  being  parted 
with,  turn  out  good,  his  incensed  kindred,  shutting  their 
eyes  to  his  memoranda  and  despising  his  exhibits,  would 
see  in  him  only  the  family  traitor,  and  he  would  go  about 
the  streets  of  his  town  the  subject  of  their  implacable  de 
nunciation,  the  community's  obloquy,  and  Aurora's  cold 
evasion.  So  much,  should  he  sell.  On  the  other  hand, 
to  decline  to  sell  was  to  enter  upon  that  disingenuous 
scheme  of  delays  which  would  enable  him  to  avail  him 
self  and  his  people  of  that  favorable  wind  and  tide  of 
fortune  which  the  Cession  had  brought.  Thus  the 
estates  would  be  lost,  if  lost  at  all,  only  when  the  family 
could  afford  to  lose  them,  and  Honore  Grandissime 
would  continue  to  be  Honore  the  Magnificent,  the  ad 
miration  of  the  city  and  the  idol  of  his  clan.  But 


TO    COME    TO    THE  POINT.  3^5 

Aurora — and  Clotilda — would  have  to  eat  the  crust  of 
poverty,  while  their  fortunes,  even  in  his  hands,  must 
bear  all  the  jeopardy  of  the  scheme.  That  was  all. 
Retain  Fausse  Riviere  and  its  wealth,  and  save  the 
Grandissimes  ;  surrender  Fausse  Riviere,  let  the  Gran- 
dissime  estates  go,  and  save  the  Nancanous.  That  was 
the  whole  dilemma. 

"Let  me  see,"  said  M.  Grandissime.  "You  have 
a  mortgage  on  one  of  our  Golden  Coast  plantations. 
Well,  to  be  frank  with  you,  I  was  thinking  of  that  when 
you  came  in.  You  know  I  am  partial  to  prompt  trans 
actions — I  thought  of  offering  you  either  to  take  up  that 
mortgage  or  to  sell  you  the  plantation,  as  you  may 
prefer.  I  have  ventured  to  guess  that  it  would  suit  you 
to  own  it." 

And  the  speaker  felt  within  him  a  secret  exultation  in 
the  idea  that  he  had  succeeded  in  throwing  the  issue  off 
upon  a  Providence  that  could  control  this  mortgageor's 
choice. 

"  I  would  prefer  to  leave  that  choice  with  you,"  said 
the  coy  would-be  purchaser  ;  and  then  the  two  went  co 
quetting  again  for  another  moment. 

"  I  understand  that  Nicholas  Girod  is  proposing  to 
erect  a  four-story  brick  building  on  the  corner  of  Royale 
and  St.  Pierre.  Do  you  think  it  practicable  ?  Do  you 
think  our  soil  will  support  such  a  structure  ?  " 

"  Pitot  thinks  it  will.  Bore  says  it  is  perfectly  feasi 
ble." 

So  they  dallied. 

"Well,"  said  the  mortgageor,  presently  rising,  "you 
will  make  up  your  mind  and  let  me  know,  will 
you  ?  " 

The  chance  repetition  of  those  words  "  make  up  your 


326  THE    GRAND1SSIMES. 

mind "  touched  Honor£  Grandissime  like  a  hot  iron. 
He  rose  with  the  visitor. 

"Well,  sir,  what  would  you  give  us  for  our  title  in 
case  we  should  decide  to  part  with  it  ?  " 

The  two  men  moved  slowly,  side  by  side,  toward  the 
door,  and  in  the  half-open  door-way,  after  a  little  further 
trifling,  the  title  was  sold. 

"  Well,  good-day,"  said  M.  Grandissime.  "  M.  de 
Brahmin  will  arrange  the  papers  for  us  to-morrow." 

He  turned  back  toward  his  private  desk. 

"  And  now,"  thought  he,  "I  am  acting  without  re 
solving.  No  merit ;  no  strength  of  will  ;  no  clearness 
of  purpose  ;  no  emphatic  decision  ;  nothing  but  a  yield 
ing  to  temptation." 

And  M.  Grandissime  spoke  true;  but  it  is  only  whole 
men  who  so  yield — yielding  to  the  temptation  to  do 
right. 

He  passed  into  the  counting-room,  to  M.  De  Brahmin, 
and  standing  there  talked  in  an  inaudible  tone,  leaning 
over  the  upturned  spectacles  of  his  manager,  for  nearly 
an  hour.  Then,  saying  he  would  go  to  dinner,  he  went 
out.  He  did  not  dine  at  home  nor  at  the  Veau-qui-tete, 
nor  at  any  of  the  clubs  ;  so  much  is  known  ;  he  merely 
disappeared  for  two  or  three  hours  and  was  not  seen 
again  until  late  in  the  afternoon,  when  two  or  three  Brah 
mins  and  Grandissimes,  wandering  about  in  search  of 
him,  met  him  on  the  levee  near  the  head  of  the  rue 
Bicnville,  and  with  an  exclamation  of  wonder  and  a 
look  of  surprise  at  his  dusty  shoes,  demanded  to  know 
where  he  had  hid  himself  while  they  had  been  ransacking 
the  town  in  search  of  him. 

"  We  want  you  to  tell  us  what  you  will  do  about  our 
titles." 


TO    COME    TO    THE  POINT. 

He  smiled  pleasantly,  the  picture  of  serenity,  and 
replied  : 

"  I  have  not  fully  made  up  my  mind  yet ;  as  soon  as 
I  do  so  I  will  let  you  know." 

There  was  a  word  or  two  more  exchanged,  and  then, 
after  a  moment  of  silence,  with  a  gentle  "Eh,  bien," 
and  a  gesture  to  which  they  were  accustomed,  he 
stepped  away  backward,  they  resumed  their  hurried  walk 
and  talk,  and  he  turned  into  the  rue  Bienville. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

AN   INHERITANCE   OF   WRONG. 

"  I  TELL  you,"  Doctor  Keene  used  to  say,  "  that  old 
woman's  a  thinker."  His  allusion  was  to  Clemence, 
the  marchande  des  calas.  Her  mental  activity  was 
evinced  not  more  in  the  cunning  aptness  of  her  songs 
than  in  the  droll  wisdom  of  her  sayings.  Not  the 
melody  only,  but  the  often  audacious,  epigrammatic 
philosophy  of  her  tongue  as  well,  sold  her  calas  and 
ginger-cakes. 

.But  in  one  direction  her  wisdom  proved  scant.  She 
presumed  too  much  on  her  insignificance.  She  was  a 
"study,"  the  gossiping  circle  at  Frowenfeld's  used  to 
say ;  and  any  observant  hearer  of  her  odd  aphorisms 
could  see  that  she  herself  had  made  a  life-study  of  her 
self  and  her  conditions  ;  but  she  little  thought  that 
others — some  with  wits  and  some  with  none — young 
hair-brained  Grandissimes,  Mandarins  and  the  like — 
were  silently,  and  for  her  most  unluckily,  charging  their 
memories  with  her  knowing  speeches  ;  and  that  of  every 
one  of  those  speeches  she  would  ultimately  have  to' 
give  account. 

Doctor  Keene,  in  the  old  days  of  his  health,  used  to  en 
joy  an  occasional  skirmish  with  her.  Once,  in  the  course 
of  chaffering  over  the  price  of  calas,  he  enounced  an 
old  current  conviction  which  is  not  without  holders  even 


AN  INHERITANCE    OF    WRONG.  329 

to  this  day  ;  for  we  may  still  hear  it  said  by  those  who 
will  not  be  decoyed  down  from  the  mountain  fastnesses 
of  the  old  Southern  doctrines,  that  their  slaves  were1 
"the  happiest  people  under  the  sun."  Clemence  had 
made  bold  to  deny  this  with  argumentative  indignation, 
and  was  courteously  informed  in  retort  that  she  had  pro 
mulgated  a  falsehood  of  magnitude. 

"  W'y,  Mawse  Chawlie,"  she  replied,  "  does  you 
s'pose  one  po'  nigga  kin  tell  a  big  lie  ?  No,  sah  !  But 
w'en  de  whole  people  tell  w'at  ain'  so — if  dey  know  it, 
aw  if  dey  don'  know  it — den  dat  is  a  big  lie  ! "  And 
she  laughed  to  contortion. 

"What  is  that  you  say?  "  he  demanded,  with  mock 
ferocity.  "  You  charge  white  people  with  lying?  " 

"  Oh,  sakes,  Mawse  Chawlie,  no  !  De  people  don't 
mek  up  dat  ah  ;  de  debble  pass  it  on  'em.  Don'  you 
know  de  debble  ah  de  grett  cyount'feiteh  ?  Ev'y  piece 
o'  money  he  mek  he  tek  an'  put  some  debblemen'  on 
de  under  side,  an'  one  o'  his  pootiess  lies  on  top  ;  an'  'e 
gilt  dat  lie,  and  'e  rub  dat  lie  on  'is  elbow,  an'  'e  shine 
dat  lie,  an'  'e  put  'is  bess  licks  on  dat  lie  ;  entel  ev'y- 
body  say  :  '  Oh,  how  pooty  !  '  An'  dey  tek  it  fo'  good 
money,  yass — and  pass  it  !  Dey  b'lieb  it  !  " 

"  Oh,"  said  some  one  at  Doctor  Keene's  side,  disposed 
to  quiz,  "  you  niggers  don't  know  when  you  are  happy." 

"  Dass  so,  Mawse — c'est  vrat,  out  !  "  she  answered 
quickly  :  "we  donno  no  mo'n  white  folks  !  " 

The  laugh  was  against  him. 

"Mawse  Chawlie,"  she  said  again,  "  w'a's  dis  I  yeh 
'bout  dat  Eu'ope  country?  's  dat  true  de  niggas  is  all 
free  in  Eu'ope  ?  " 

Doctor  Keene  replied  that  something  like  that  was 
true. 


33°  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  Well,  now,  Mawse  Chawlie,  I  gwan  t'  ass  you  a  rid 
dle.  If  dat  is  so,  den  fo'  w'y  I  yeh  folks  bragg'n  'bout 
de  '  stayt  o'  s'iety  in  Eu'ope  '  ?  " 

The  mincing  drollery  with  which  she  used  this  fine 
phrase  brought  another  peal  of  laughter.  Nobody  tried 
to  guess. 

"I  gwan  tell  you,"  said  the  marchandc ;  "'tis  be- 
cyaze  dey  got  a  '  fixed  wuckin'  class.'  '  She  sputtered 
and  giggled  with  the  general  ha,  ha.  "  Oh,  ole  Clem- 
ence  kin  talk  proctah,  yass  !  " 

She  made  a  gesture  for  attention. 

"  D'y'  ebber  yeh  w'at  de  cya'ge-hoss  say  w'en  'e  see 
de  cyaht-hoss  tu'n  loose  in  de  sem  pawstu'e  wid  he,  an' 
knowed  dat  some'ow  de  cyaht  gotteh  be  haul'  ?  W'y 
'e  jiz  snawt  an'  kick  up  'is  heel'  "  — she  suited  the  action 
to  the  word — "  an'  tah'  roun'  de  fiel'  an'  prance  up  to 
de  fence  an'  say  :  '  Whoopy !  shoo  !  shoo  !  dis  yeh 
country  gittin'  too  free  ! '  ' 

"  Oh,"  she  resumed,  as  soon  as  she  could  be  heard, 
"  white  folks  is  werry  kine.  Dey  wants  us  to  b'lieb  we 
happy — dey  wants  to  b'lieb  we  is.  W'y,  you  know,  dey 
'bleeged  to  b'lieb  it— fo'  dey  own  cyumfut.  Tis  de  sem 
wch  wid  de  preache's  ;  dey  buil'  we  ow  own  sep'ate 
meet'n-houses  ;  dey  b'leebs  us  lak  it  de  bcss,  an'  dey 
knoivs  dey  lak  it  de  bess." 

The  laugh  at  this  was  mostly  her  own.  It  is  not  a 
laughable  sight  to  see  the  comfortable  fractions  of  Chris 
tian  communities  everywhere  striving,  with  sincere, 
pious,  well-meant,  criminal  benevolence,  to  make  their 
poor  brethren  contented  with  the  ditch.  Nor  docs  it 
become  so  to  see  these  efforts  meet,  or  seem  to  meet, 
some  degree  of  success.  Happily  man  cannot  so  place 
his  brother  that  his  misery  will  continue  unmitigated. 


AN  INHERITANCE    OF    WRONG.  331 

You  may  dwarf  a  man  to  the  mere  stump  of  what  he 
ought  to  be,  and  yet  he  will  put  out  green  leaves. 
"  Free  from  care,"  we  benignly  observe  of  the  dwarfed 
classes  of  society  ;  but  we  forget,  or  have  never  thought, 
what  a  crime  we  commit  when  we  rob  men  and  women 
of  their  cares. 

To  Clemence  the  order  of  society  was  nothing.  No 
upheaval  could  reach  to  the  depth  to  which  she  was 
sunk.  It  is  true,  she  was  one  of  the  population.  She 
had  certain  affections  toward  people  and  places ;  but 
they  were  not  of  a  consuming  sort. 

As  for  us,  our  feelings,  our  sentiments,  affections,  etc., 
are  fine  and  keen,  delicate  and  many;  what  we  call  re 
fined.  Why  ?  Because  we  get  them  as  we  get  our  old 
swords  and  gems  and  laces — from  our  g-randsires, 
mothers,  and  all.  Refined  they  are — after  centuries  of 
refining.  But  the  feelings  handed  down  to  Clemence 
had  come  through  ages  of  African  savagery ;  through 
fires  that  do  not  refine,  but  that  blunt  and  blast  and 
blacken  and  char;  starvation,  gluttony,  drunkenness, 
thirst,  drowning,  nakedness,  dirt,  fetichism,  debauchery, 
slaughter,  pestilence  and  the  rest — she  was  their  heiress  ; 
they  left  her  the  cinders  of  human  feelings.  She  re 
membered  her  mother.  They  had  been  separated  in 
her  childhood,  in  Virginia  when  it  was  a  province.  She 
remembered,  with  pride,  the  price  her  mother  had 
brought  at  auction,  and  remarked,  as  an  additional  in 
teresting  item,  that  she  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  her 
since.  She  had  had  children,  assorted  colors — had  one 
.with  her  now,  the  black  boy  that  brought  the  basil  to 
Joseph  ;  the  others  were  here  and  there,  some  in  the 
Grandissime  households  or  field-gangs,  some  elsewhere 
within  occasional  sight,  some  dead,  some  not  accounted 


332  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

for.      Husbands — like    the     Samaritan    woman's.      We 
know  she  was  a  constant  singer  and  laugher. 

And  so  on  that  day,  when  Honore  Grandissime  had 
advised  the  Governor-General  of  Louisiana  to  be  very 
careful  to  avoid  demonstration  of  any  sort  if  he  wished 
to  avert  a  street-war  in  his  little  capital,  Clemence  went 
up  one  street  and  down  another,  singing  her  song  and 
laughing  her  professional  merry  laugh.  How  could  it 
be  otherwise?  Let  events  take  any  possible  turn,  how 
could  it  make  any  difference  to  Clemence?  What  could 
she  hope  to  gain  ?  What  could  she  fear  to  lose  ?  She 
sold  some  of  her  goods  to  Casa  Calvo's  Spanish  guard 
and  sang  them  a  Spanish  song ;  some  to  Claiborne's 
soldiers  and  sang  them  Yankee  Doodle  with  unclean 
words  of  her  own  inspiration,  which  evoked  true  sol 
diers'  laughter ;  some  to  a  priest  at  his  window,  ex 
changing  with  him  a  pious  comment  or  two  upon  the 
wickedness  of  the  times  generally  and  their  Americain- 
Protestant-poisoned  community  in  particular  ;  and  (after 
going  home  to  dinner  and  coming  out  newly  furnished) 
she  sold  some  more  of  her  wares  to  the  excited  groups 
of  Creoles  to  which  we  have  had  occasion  to  allude,  and 
from  whom,  insensible  as  she  was  to  ribaldry,  she  was 
glad  to  escape.  The  day  now  drawing  to  a  close,  she 
turned  her  steps  toward  her  wonted  crouching-place,  the 
willow  avenue  on  the  levee,  near  the  Place  d'Armes. 
But  she  had  hardly  defined  this  decision  clearly  in  her 
mind,  and  had  but  just  turned  out  of  the  rue  St.  Louis, 
when  her  song  attracted  an  ear  in  a  second-story  room 
under  whose  window  she  was  passing.  As  usual  it  was 
fitted  to.  the  passing  event : 

"  Apportez  moi  mo1  sabre, 

fia  bourn,  ba  bourn,  bourn,  bourn.'1'' 


AN  INHERITANCE    OF    WRONG.  333 

"  Run,  fetch  that  girl  here,"  said  Dr.  Keene  to  the 
slave  woman  who  had  just  entered  his  room  with  a 
pitcher  of  water. 

"Well,  old  eaves-dropper,"  he  said,  as  Clemence 
came,  "  what  is  the  scandal  to-day?  " 

Clemence  laughed. 

"  You  know,  Mawse  Chawlie,  I  dunno  noth'n'  'tall 
'bout  nobody.  I'se  a  nigga  w'at  mine  my  own  business." 

"  Sit  down  there  on  that  stool,  and  tell  me  what  is 
going  on  outside." 

"  I  d'no  noth'n'  'bout  no  goin's  on  ;  got  no  time  fo' 
sit  down,  me ;  got  sell  my  cakes.  I  don't  goin'  git  mix' 
in  wid  no  white  folks's  doin's." 

"  Hush,  you  old  hypocrite  ;  I  will  buy  all  your  cakes. 
Put  them  out  there  on  the  table." 

The  invalid,  sitting  up  in  bed,  drew  a  purse  from  be 
hind  his  pillow  and  tossed  her  a  large  price.  She  tit 
tered,  courtesied  and  received  the  money. 

"  Well,  well,  Mawse  Chawlie,  'f  you  ain'  de  funni'st 
gen'leman  I  knows,  to  be  sho  !  " 

"Have  you  seen  Joseph  Frowenfeld  to-day?"  he 
asked. 

"  He,  he,  he  !  W'at  I  got  do  wid  Mawse  Frowenfel'  ? 
I  goes  on  de  off  side  o'  sich  folks — folks  w'at  cann'  'have 
deyself  no  bette'n  dat — he,  he,  he  !  At  de  same  time  I 
did  happen,  jis  chancin'  by  accident,  to  see  'im." 

"  How  is  he?" 

Dr.  Keene  made  plain  by  his  manner  that  any  sensa 
tional  account  would  receive  his  instantaneous  contempt, 
and  she  answered  within  bounds. 

"Well,  now,  tellin'  the  simple  trufe,  he  ain'  much 
hurt." 

The  doctor  turned  slowly  and  cautiously  in  bed. 


334  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  Have  you  seen  Honore  Grandissime  ?  " 

"  W'y — das  funny  you  ass  me  dat.  I  jis  now  see  'im 
dis  werry  minnit." 

"Where?" 

"  Jis  gwine  into  de  house  wah  dat  laydy  live  w'at  'e 
ranned  over  dat  ah  time." 

"  Now,  you  old  hag,"  cried  the  sick  man,  his  weak, 
husky  voice  trembling  with  passion,  "you  know  you're 
telling  me  a  lie." 

"  No,  Mawse  Chawlie,"  she  protested  with  a  coward's 
frown,  "  I  swah  I  tellin'  you  de  God's  trufe !  " 

"  Hand  me  my  clothes  off  that  chair." 

"  Oh  !  but,  Mawse  Chawlie— 

The  little  doctor  cursed  her.  She  did  as  she  was  bid, 
and  made  as  if  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Don't  you  go  away." 

"  But  Mawse  Chawlie,  you'  undress' — he,  he  !  " 

She  was  really  abashed  and  half  frightened. 

"  I  know  that  ;  and  you  have  got  to  help  me  put  my 
clothes  on." 

"  You  gwan  kill  yo'se'f,  Mawse  Chawlie,"  she  said, 
handling  a  garment. 

"  Hold  your  black  tongue." 

She  dressed  him  hastily,  and  he  went  down  the  stairs 
of  his  lodging-house  and  out  into  the  street.  Clemence 
went  in  search  of  her  master. 


CHAPTER   XLIII. 

THE   EAGLE   VISITS   THE   DOVES   IN   THEIR   NEST. 

ALPHONSINA — only  living  property  of  Aurora  and 
Clotilde — was  called  upon  to  light  a  fire  in  the  little 
parlor.  Elsewhere,  although  the  day  was  declining,  few 
persons  felt  such  a  need  ;  but  in  No.  19  rue  Bienville 
there  were  two  chilling  influences  combined  requiring 
an  artificial  offset.  One  was  the  ground  under  the  floor, 
which  was  only  three  inches  distant,  and  permanently 
saturated  with  water  ;  the  other  was  despair. 

Before  this  fire  the  two  ladies  sat  down  together  like 
watchers,  in  that  silence  and  vacuity  of  mind  which  come 
after  an  exhaustive  struggle  ending  in  the  recognition  of 
the  inevitable  ;  a  torpor  of  thought,  a  stupefaction  of 
feeling,  a  purely  negative  state  of  joylessness  sequent  to 
the  positive  state  of  anguish.  They  were  now  both 
hungry,  but  in  want  of  some  present  friend  acquainted 
with  the  motions  of  mental  distress  who  could  guess  this 
fact  and  press  them  to  eat.  By  their  eyes  it  was  plain 
they  had  been  weeping  much  ;  by  the  subdued  tone, 
too,  of  their  short  and  infrequent  speeches. 

Alphonsina,  having  made  the  fire,  went  out  with  a 
bundle.  It  was  Aurora's  last  good  dress.  She  was 
going  to  try  to  sell  it. 

"It  ought  not  to  be  so  hard,"  began  Clotilde,  in  a 
quiet  manner  of  contemplating  some  one  else's  diffi- 


336  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

culty,  but  paused  with  the  saying  uncompleted,  and 
sighed  under  her  breath. 

"  But  it  is  so  hard,"  responded  Aurora. 

"  No,  it  ought  not  to  be  so  hard " 

"  How,  not  so  hard  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  so  hard  to  live,"  said  Clotilde  ;  "  but  it  is 

hard  to  be  ladies.  You  understand "  she  knit  her 

fingers,  dropped  them  into  her  lap  and  turned  her  eyes 
toward  Aurora,  who  responded  with  the  same  motions, 
adding  the  crossing  of  her  silk-stockinged  ankles  before 
the  fire. 

"  No,"  said  Aurora,  with  a  scintillation  of  irrepressible 
mischief  in  her  eyes. 

"After  all, "  pursued  Clotilde,  "what  troubles  us  is 
not  how  to  make  a  living,  but  how  to  get  a  living  with 
out  making  it." 

"  Ah  !  that  would  be  magnificent  !  "  said  Aurora,  and 
then  added,  more  soberly:  "  but  we  are  compelled  to 
make  a  living." 

"No." 

"  No-o  ?     Ah  !  what  do  you  mean  with  your  no  ?  " 

"  I  mean  it  is  just  the  contrary;  we  are  compelled 
not  to  make  a  living.  Look  at  me  :  I  can  cook,  but  I 
must  not  cook  ;  I  am  skillful  with  the  needle,  but  I  must 
not  take  in  sewing  ;  I  could  keep  accounts  ;  I  could 
nurse  the  sick  ;  but  I  must  not.  I  could  be  a  confec 
tioner,  a  milliner,  a  dressmaker,  a  vest-maker,  a  cleaner 
of  gloves  and  laces,  a  dyer,  a  bird-seller,  a  mattress- 
maker,  an  upholsterer,  a  dancing-teacher,  a  florist — 

"Oh!"  softly  exclaimed  Aurora,  in  English,  "you 
could  be — you  know  w'ad  ? — an  egcellcn'  drug-cl' — ah, 
ha,  ha!" 

"  Now " 


THE  EAGLE  VISITS  THE  DOVES  IN  THEIR  NEST.    337 

But  the  threatened  irruption  was  averted  by  a  look  of 
tender  apology  from  Aurora,  in  reply  to  one  of  martyr 
dom  from  Clotilde. 

"  My  angel  daughter,"  said  Aurora,  "if  society  has 
decreed  that  ladies  must  be  ladies,  then  that  is  our  first 
duty  ;  our  second  is  to  live.  Do  you  not  see  why  it  is 
that  this  practical  world  does  not  permit  ladies  to  make 
a  living  ?  Because  if  they  could,  none  of  them  would 
ever  consent  to  be  married.  Ha  !  women  talk  about 
marrying  for  love  ;  but  society  is  too  sharp  to  trust 
them,  yet !  It  makes  it  necessary  to  marry.  I  will  tell 
you  the  honest  truth  ;  some  days  when  I  get  very,  very 
hungry,  and  we  have  nothing  but  rice — all  because  we 
are  ladies  without  male  protectors— I  think  society  could 
drive  even  me  to  marriage  ! — for  your  sake,  though, 
darling  ;  of  course,  only  for  your  sake  !  " 

"Never!"  replied  Clotilde;  "for  my  sake,  never  ; 
for  your  own  sake  if  you  choose.  I  should  not  care.  I 
should  be  glad  to  see  you  do  so  if  it  would  make  you 
happy ;  but  never  for  my  sake  and  never  for  hunger's 
sake  ;  but  for  love's  sake,  yes ;  and  God  bless  thee, 
pretty  maman." 

"  Clotilde,  dear,"  said  the  unconscionable  widow,  "let 
;ne  assure  you,  once  for  all, — starvation  is  preferable.  I 
.tiean  for  me,  you  understand,  simply  for  me  ;  that  is  my 
feeling  on  the  subject." 

Clotilde  turned  her  saddened  eyes  with  a  steady  scru 
tiny  upon  her  deceiver,  who  gazed  upward  in  apparently 
unconscious  reverie,  and  sighed  softly  as  she  laid  her  head 
upon  the  high  chair-back  and  stretched  out  her  feet. 

"  I  wish  Alphonsina  would  come  back,"  she  said. 
"  Ah!"  she  added,  hearing  a  footfall  on  the  step  out 
side  the  street  door,  "  there  she  is." 


THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

She  arose  and  drew  the  bolt.  Unseen  to  her,  the  per 
son  whose  footsteps  she  had  heard  stood  upon  the  door 
step  with  a  hand  lifted  to  knock,  but  pausing  to  "  make 
'dp  his  mind."  He  heard  the  bolt  shoot  back,  recog- 
ni2ed  the  nature  of  the  mistake,  and,  feeling  that  here 
again  he  was  robbed  of  volition,  rapped. 

"  That  is  not  Alphonsina  !  " 

The  two  ladies  looked  at  each  other  and  turned  pale. 

"  But  you  must  open  it,"  whispered  Clotilde,  half 
rising. 

Aurora  opened  the  door,  and  changed  from  white  to 
crimson.  Clotilde  rose  up  quickly.  The  gentleman 
lifted  his  hat. 

"  Madame  Nancanou." 

"  M.  Grandissime  ?  " 

"  Oui,  Madame." 

For  once,  Aurora  was  in  an  uncontrollable  flutter. 
She  stammered,  lost  her  breath,  and  even  spoke  worse 
French  than  she  needed  to  have  done. 

"  Be  pi — pleased,  sir — to  enter.  Clotilde,  my  daugh 
ter —  Monsieur  Grandissime.  P-please  be  seated,  sir. 
Monsieur  Grandissime," — she  dropped  into  a  chair  with 
an  air  of  vivacity  pitiful  to  behold, — "  I  suppose  you 
have  come  for  the  rent."  She  blushed  even  more  vio 
lently  than  before,  and  her  hand  stole  upward  upon  her 
heart  to  stay  its  violent  beating.  "  Clotilde,  dear,  I 
should  be  glad  if  you  would  put  the  fire  before  the 
screen  ;  it  is  so  much  too  warm."  She  pushed  her  chair 
back  and  shaded  her  face  with  her  hand.  "  I  think  the 
warmer  is  growing  weather  outside,  is  it — is  it  not  ?  " 

The  struggles  of  a  wounded  bird  could  not  have  been 
more  piteous.  Monsieur  Grandissime  sought  to  speak. 
Clotilde,  too,  nerved  by  the  sight  of  her  mother's  em- 


THE  EAGLE  VISITS  THE  DOVES  IN  THEIR  NEST.    339 

harassment,  came  to  her  support,  and  she  and  the  visitor 
spoke  in  one  breath. 

"  Maman,  if  Monsieur — pardon " 

"  Madame  Nancanou,  the — pardon,  Mademoiselle." 

"  I  have  presumed  to  call  upon  you,"  resumed  M. 
Grandissime,  addressing  himself  now  to  both  ladies  at 
once,  "  to  see  if  I  may  enlist  you  in  a  purely  benevo 
lent  undertaking  in  the  interest  of  one  who  has  been 
unfortunate — a  common  acquaintance " 

"  Common  acquaint —  '  interrupted  Aurora,  with  a 
hostile  lighting  of  her  eyes. 

"  I  believe  so — Professor  Frowenfeld."  M.  Grandis 
sime  saw  Clotilde  start,  and  in  her  turn  falsely. accuse 
the  fire  by  shading  her  face  :  but  it  was  no  time  to  stop. 
"  Ladies,"  he  continued,  "  please  allow  me,  for  the  sake 
of  the  good  it  may  effect,  to  speak  plainly  and  to  the 
point." 

The  ladies  expressed  acquiescence  by  settling  them 
selves  to  hear. 

"  Professor  Frowenfeld  had  the  extraordinary  misfor 
tune  this  morning  to  incur  the  suspicion  of  having  en 
tered  a  house  for  the  purpose  of — at  least,  for  a  bad 
design " 

"He  is  innocent!"  came  from  Clotilde,  against  her 
intention  ;  Aurora  covertly  put  out  a  hand,  and  Clotilde 
clutched  it  nervously. 

"As,  for  example,  robbery,"  said  the  self-recovered 
Aurora,  ignoring  Clotilde's  look  of  protestation. 

"  Call  it  so,"  responded  M.  Grandissime.  "  Have 
you  heard  at  whose  house  this  was  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  It  was  at  the  house  of  Palmyre  Philosophe." 

"  Palmyre   Philosophe!"    exclaimed  Aurora,  in  low 


34O  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

astonishment.  Clotilde  let  slip,  in  a  tone  of  indignant 
incredulity,  a  soft  "  Ah  !  "  Aurora  turned,  and  with 
some  hope  that  M.  Grandissime  would  not  understand, 
ventured  to  say  in  Spanish,  quietly : 

"  Come,  come,  this  will  never  do." 

And  Clotilde  replied  in  the  same  tongue : 

"  I  know  it,  but  he  is  innocent." 

"  Let  us  understand  each  other,"  said  their  visitor. 
"  There  is  not  the  faintest  idea  in  the  mind  of  one  of  us 
that  Professor  Frowenfeld  is  guilty  of  even  an  intention 
of  wrong  ;  otherwise  I  should  not  be  here.  He  is  a  man 
simply  incapable  of  anything  ignoble." 

Clotilde  was  silent.  Aurora  answered  promptly,  with 
the  air  of  one  not  to  be  excelled  in  generosity : 

"  Certainly,  he  is  very  incapabl'." 

"  Still,"  resumed  the  visitor,  turning  especially  to  Clo 
tilde,  "  the  known  facts  are  these,  according  to  his  own 
statement :  he  was  in  the  house  of  Palmyre  on  some  legi 
timate  business  which,  unhappily,  he  considers  himself 
on  some  account  bound  not  to  disclose,  and  by  some 
mistake  of  Palmyre's  old  Congo  woman,  was  set  upon  by 
her  and  wounded,  barely  escaping  with  a  whole  skull  into 
the  street,  an  object  of  public  scandal.  Laying  aside 
the  consideration  of  his  feelings,  his  reputation  is  at 
stake  and  likely  to  be  ruined  unless  the  affair  can  be  ex 
plained  clearly  and  satisfactorily,  and  at  once,  by  his 
friends." 

"  And  you  undertake "  began  Aurora. 

"  Madame  Nancanou,"  said  Honorc  Grandissime,  lean 
ing  toward  her  earnestly,  "  you  know — I  must  beg  leave 
to  appeal  to  your  candor  and  confidence — you  know 
everything  concerning  Palmyre  that  I  know.  You  know 
me,  and  who  I  am  ;  you  know  it  is  not  for  me  to  under- 


THE  EAGLE  VISITS  THE  DOVES  IN  THEIR  NEST.    341 

take  to  confer  with  Palmyre.  I  know,  too,  her  old 
affection  for  you  ;  she  lives  but  a  little  way  down  this 
street  upon  which  you  live  ;  there  is  still  daylight  enough 
at  your  disposal ;  if  you  will,  you  can  go  to  see  her,  and 
get  from  her  a  full  and  complete  exoneration  of  this 
young  man.  She  cannot  come  to  you  ;  she  is  not  fit  to 
leave  her  room." 

"  Cannot  leave  her  room  ?  " 

"  I  am.  possibly,  violating  confidence  in  this  disclo 
sure,  but  it  is  unavoidable — you  have  to  know  ;  she  is 
not  fully  recovered  from  a  pistol-shot  wound  received 
between  two  and  three  weeks  ago." 

"  Pistol-shot  wound  !  " 

Both  ladies  started  forward  with  open  lips  and  excla 
mations  of  amazement. 

"  Received  from  a  third  person — not  myself  and  not 
Professor  Frowenfeld — in  a  desperate  attempt  made  by 
her  to  avenge  the  wrongs  which  she  has  suffered,  as 
you,  Madame,  as  well  as  I,  are  aware,  at  the  hands 
of " 

Aurora  rose  up  with  a  majestic  motion  for  the  speaker 
to  desist. 

"  If  it  is  to  mention  the  person  of  whom  your  allusion 
reminds  me,  that  you  have  honored  us  with  a  call  this 
evening,  Monsieur — 

Her  eyes  were  flashing  as  he  had  seen  them  flash  in 
front  of  the  Place  d'Armes. 

"  I  beg  you  not  to  suspect  me  of  meanness,"  he  an 
swered,  gently,  and  with  a  remonstrative  smile.  "  I 
have  been  trying  all  day,  in  a  way  unnecessary  to  ex 
plain,  to  be  generous." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  incapabl',"  said  Aurora,  following 
her  double  meaning  with  that  combination  of  mischiev- 


342  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

ous  eyes  and  unsmiling  face  of  which  she  was  master. 
She  resumed  her  seat,  adding  :  "  It  is  generous  for  you 
to  admit  that  Palmyre  has  suffered  wrongs." 

"  It  -cvoittdbe,"  he  replied,  "  to  attempt  to  repair  them, 
seeing  that  I  am  not  responsible  for  them,  but  this  I  can 
not  claim  yet  to  have  done.  I  have  asked  of  you,  Ma 
dame,  a  generous  act.  I  might  ask  another  of  you  both, 
jointly.  It  is  to  permit  me  to  say  without  offence,  that 
there  is  one  man,  at  least,  of  the  name  of  Grandissime 
who  views  with  regret  and  mortification  the  yet  deeper 
wrongs  which  you  are  even  now  suffering." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Aurora,  inwardly  ready  for  fierce 
tears,  but  with  no  outward  betrayal  save  a  trifle  too  much 
grace  and  an  over-bright  smile,  "  Monsieur  is  much  mis 
taken  ;  we  are  quite  comfortable  and  happy,  wanting 
nothing,  eh,  Clotildc  ?— not  even  our  rights,  ha,  ha  !  " 

She  rose  and  let  Alphonsina  in.  The  bundle  was  still 
in  the  negress's  arms,  and  passed  through  the  room  and 
disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the  kitchen. 

"Oh!  no,  sir,  not  at  all,"  repeated  Aurora,  as  she 
once  more  sat  down. 

"  You  ought  to  want  your  rights,"  said  M.  Grandis 
sime.  "  You  ought  to  have  them." 

"You  think  so?" 

Aurora  was  really  finding  it  hard  to  conceal  her  grow 
ing  excite'rnent,  and  turned,  with  a  faint  hope  of  relief, 
toward  Clotilde. 

Clotilde,  looking  only  at  their  visitor,  but  feeling  her 
mother's  glance,  with  a  tremulous  and  half-choked  voice, 
said  eagerly  : 

"  Then  why  do  you  not  give  them  to  us  ?  " 

"Ah!"  interposed  Aurora,  "we  shall  get  them  to 
morrow,  when  the  sheriff  comes." 


THE  EAGLE  VISITS  THE  DOVES  IN  THEIR  NEST.    343 

And,  thereupon,  what  did  Clotilde  do  but  sit  bolt  up 
right,  with  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and  let  the  tears  roll, 
tear  after  tear,  down  her  cheeks. 

"Yes,  Monsieur,"  said  Aurora,  smiling  still,  "those 
that  you  see  are  really  tears.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  excuse  me,  I 
really  have  to  laugh  ;  for  I  just  happened  to  remember 
our  meeting  at  the  masked  ball  last  September.  We 
had  such  a  pleasant  evening  and  were  so  much  indebted 
to  you  for  our  enjoyment, — particularly  myself, — little 
thinking,  you  know,  that  you  were  one  of  that  great 
family  which  believes  we  ought  to  have  our  rights,  you 
know.  There  are  many  people  who  ought  to  have  their 
rights.  There  was  Bras-Coupe  ;  indeed,  he  got  them- — 
found  them  in  the  swamp.  Maybe  Clotilde  and  I  shall 
find  ours  in  the  street.  When  we  unmasked  in  the  thea 
tre,  you  know,  I  did  not  know  you  were  my  landlord, 
and  you  did  not  know  that  I  could  not  pay  a  few  pica 
yunes  of  rent.  But  you  must  excuse  those  tears  ;  Clo 
tilde  is  generally  a  brave  little  woman,  and  would  not  be 
so  rude  as  to  weep  before  a  stranger  ;  but  she  is  weak 
to-day — we  are  both  weak  to-day,  from  the  fact  that  we 
have  eaten  nothing  since  early  morning,  although  we 
have  abundance  of  food — for  want  of  appetite,  you  un 
derstand.  You  must  sometimes  be  affected  the  same 
way,  having  the  care  of  so  much  wealth  of  all  sorts." 

Honore  Grandissime  had  risen  to  his  feet  and  was 
standing  with  one  hand  on  the  edge  of  the  lofty  mantel, 
his  hat  in  the  other  dropped  at  his  side  and  his  eye  fixed 
upon  Aurora's  beautiful  face,  whence  her  small  nervous 
hand  kept  dashing  aside  the  tears  through  which  she  de 
fiantly  talked  and  smiled.  Clotilde  sat  with  clenched 
hands  buried  in  her  lap,  looking  at  Aurora  and  still 
weeping. 


344  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

And  M.  Grandissime  was  saying  to  himself: 

"  If  I  do  this  thing  now — if  I  do  it  here — I  do  it  on  an 
impulse  ;  I  do  it  under  constraint  of  woman's  tears  ;  I 
do  it  because  I  love  this  woman  ;  I  do  it  to  get  out  of  a 
corner  ;  I  do  it  in  weakness,  not  in  strength  ;  I  do  it 
without  having  made  up  my  mind  whether  or  not  it  is 
the  best  thing  to  do." 

And  then  without  intention,  with  scarcely  more  con 
sciousness  of  movement  than  belongs  to  the  undermined 
tree  which  settles,  roots  and  all,  into  the  swollen  stream, 
he  turned  and  moved  toward  the  door. 

Clotilde  rose. 

"  Monsieur  Grandissime." 

He  stopped  and  looked  back. 

"  We  will  see  Palmyre  at  once,  according  to  your  re 
quest." 

He  turned  his  eyes  toward  Aurora. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  and  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hand 
kerchief  and  sobbed  aloud. 

She  heard  his  footstep  again  ;  it  reached  the  door ; 
the  door  opened — closed  ;  she  heard  his  footstep  again  ; 
was  he  gone  ? 

He  was  gone. 

The  two  women  threw  themselves  into  each  other's 
arms  and  wept.  Presently  Clotilde  left  the  room.  She 
came  back  in  a  moment  from  the  rear  apartment,  with  a 
bonnet  and  vail  in  her  hands. 

"  No,"  said  Aurora,  rising  quickly,  "  I  must  do  it." 

"There  is  no  time  to  lose,"  said  Clotilde.  "  It  will 
soon  be  dark." 

It  was  hardly  a  minute  before  Aurora  was  ready  to 
start.  A  kiss,  a  sorrowful  look  of  love  exchanged,  the  veil 
dropped  over  the  swollen  eyes,  and  Aurora  was  gone. 


THE  EAGLE  VISITS  THE  DOVES  IN  THEIR  NEST.    345 

A  minute  passed,  hardly  more,  and — what  was  this  ? — 
the  soft  patter  of  Aurora's  knuckles  on  the  door. 

"Just  here  at  the  corner  I  saw  Palmy  re  leaving  her 
house  and  walking  down  the  rue  Royale.  We  must  wait 
until  morn — 

Again  a  footfall  on  the  doorstep,  and  the  door,  which 
was  standing  ajar,  was  pushed  slightly  by  the  force  of  the 
masculine  knock  which  followed. 

"Allow  me,"  said  the  voice  of  Honore  Grandissime, 
as  Aurora  bowed  at  the  door.  "  I  should  have  handed 
you  this  ;  good-day." 

She  received  a  missive.  It  was  long,  like  an  official 
document ;  it  bore  evidence  of  having  been  carried  for 
some  hours  in  a  coat-pocket,  and  was  folded  in  one  of 
those  old,  troublesome  ways  in  use  before  the  days  of 
envelopes.  Aurora  pulled  it  open. 

"  It  is  all  figures  ;  light  a  candle." 

The  candle  was  lighted  by  Clotilde  and  held  over  Au 
rora's  shoulder ;  they  saw  a  heading  and  footing  more 
conspicuous  than  the  rest  of  the  writing. 

The  heading  read  : 

"  Aurora  and  Clotilde  Nancanou,  owners  of  Fausse  Rivi&re  Plantation, 
in  account  with  Honore  Grandissime." 

The  footing  read : 

"  Balance  at  credit,  subject  to  order  of  Aurora  and  Clotilde  Nancanou, 
$105,000.00." 

The  date  followed  : 

• 

"March  9,  1804." 

and  the  signature : 

"  H.  Grandissime.n 
15* 


346  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

A  small  piece  of  torn  white  paper  slipped  from  the 
account  to  the  floor.  Clotilde's  eye  followed  it,  but 
Aurora,  without  acknowledgment  of  having  seen  it,  cov 
ered  it  with  her  foot. 

In  the  morning  Aurora  awoke  first.  She  drew  from 
under  her  pillow  this  slip  of  paper.  She  had  not  dared 
look  at  it  until  now.  The  writing  on  it  had  been  roughly 
scratched  down  with  a  pencil.  It  read  : 

"  Not  for  love  of  -woman,  but  in  the  name  of  justice  and  the  fear  of 
God." 

"  And  I  was  so  cruel,"  she  whispered. 

Ah  !  Honore  Grandissime,  she  was  kind  to  that  little 
writing!  She  did  not  put  it  back  under  her  pillow;  she 
kept  it  warm,  Honore  Grandissime,  from  that  time  forth. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

BAD   FOR   CHARLIE    KEENE. 

ON  the  same  evening  of  which  we  have  been  telling, 
about  the  time  that  Aurora  and  Clotilde  were  dropping 
their  last  tear  of  joy  over  the  document  of  restitution,  a 
noticeable  figure  stood  alone  at  the  corner  of  the  rue  du 
Canal  and  the  rue  Chartres.  He  had  reached  there  and 
paused,  just  as  the  brighter  glare  of  the  set  sun  was 
growing  dim  above  the  tops  of  the  cypresses.  After 
walking  with  some  rapidity  of  step,  he  had  stopped 
aimlessly,  and  laid  his  hand  with  an  air  of  weariness 
upon  a  rotting  China-tree  that  leaned  over  the  ditch  at 
the  edge  of  the  unpaved  walk. 

"Setting  in  cypress,"  he  murmured.  We  need  not 
concern  ourselves  as  to  his  meaning. 

One  could  think  aloud  there  with  impunity.  In 
1804,  Canal  street  was  the  upper  boundary  of  New 
Orleans.  Beyond  it,  to  southward,  the  open  plain  was 
dotted  with  country-houses,  brick-kilns,  clumps  of  live- 
oak  and  groves  of  pecan.  At  the  hour  mentioned  the 
outlines  of  these  objects  were  already  darkening.  At 
one  or  two  points  the  sky  was  reflected  from  marshy 
ponds.  Out  to  westward  rose  conspicuously  the  old 
house  and  willow-copse  of  Jean-Poquelin.  Down  the 
empty  street  or  road,  which  stretched  with  arrow-like 
straightness  toward  the  north-west,  the  draining-canal 


348  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

that  gave  it  its  name  tapered  away  between  occasional 
overhanging  willows  and  beside  broken  ranks  of  rotting 
palisades,  its  foul,  crawling  waters  blushing  and  gliding 
and  purpling  under  the  swiftly  waning  light,  and  ending 
suddenly  in  the  black  shadow  of  the  swamp.  The  ob 
server  of  this  dismal  prospect  leaned  heavily  on  his  arm, 
and  cast  his  glance  out  along  the  beautified  corruption 
of  the  canal.  His  eye  seemed  quickened  to  detect  the 
smallest  repellant  details  of  the  scene  ;  every  cypress 
stump  that  stood  in  or  overhung  the  slimy  water  ;  every 
ruined  indigo-vat  or  blasted  tree,  every  broken  thing, 
every  bleached  bone  of  ox  or  horse — and  they  were 
many — for  roods  around.  As  his  eye  passed  them  slowly 
over  and  swept  back  again  around  the  dreary  view,  he 
sighed  heavily  and  said:  "  Dissolution,"  and  then  again 
— "  Dissolution  !  order  of  the  day — 

A  secret  overhearer  might  have  followed,  by  these 
occasional  exclamatory  utterances,  the  course  of  a  de 
vouring  trouble  prowling  up  and  down  through  his 
thoughts,  as  one's  eye  tracks  the  shark  by  the  occa 
sional  cutting  of  his  fin  above  the  water. 

He  spoke  again  : 

"  It  is  in  such  moods  as  this  that  fools  drown  them 
selves." 

His  speech  was  French.  He  straightened  up,  smote 
the  tree  softly  with  his  palm,  and  breathed  a  long,  deep 
sigh — such  a  sigh,  if  the  very  truth  be  told,  as  belongs 
by  right  to  a  lover.  And  yet  his  mind  did  not  dwell  on 
love. 

He  turned  and  left  the  place  ;  but  the  trouble  that 
was  plowing  hither  and  thither  through  the  deep  of  his 
meditations  went  with  him.  As  he  turned  into  the  rue 
Chartres  it  showed  itself  thus  : 


BAD   FOR    CHARLIE  KEENE.  349 

"  Right  ;  it  is  but  right ;  "  he  shook  his  head  slowly — 
"it  is  but  right." 

In  the  rue  Douane  he  spoke  again  : 

"  Ah  !  Frowenfeld  " — and  smiled  unpleasantly,  with 
his  head  down. 

And  as  he  made  yet  another  turn,  and  took  his  medi 
tative  way  down  the  city's  front,  along  the  blacksmith- 
shops  in  the  street  afterward  called  Old  Levee,  he  re 
sumed,  in  English,  and  with  a  distinctness  that  made  a 
staggering  sailor  halt  and  look  after  him  : 

"  There-h  ah  but  two  steps  to  civilization,  the  first 
easy,  the  second  dififycult ;  to  constrhuct — to  rhecon- 
strhuct — ah  !  there-h  it  is  !  the  tearhing  down  !  The 
tear " 

He  was  still,  but  repeated  the  thought  by  a  gesture 
of  distress  turned  into  a  slow  stroke  of  the  forehead. 

"  Monsieur  Honore  Grandissime,"  said  a  voice  just 
ahead. 

"  JE/t,  bienf" 

At  the  mouth  of  an  alley,  in  the  dim  light  of  the  street 
lamp,  stood  the  dark  figure  of  Honore  Grandissime, 
f.  m.  c.,  holding  up  the  loosely  hanging  form  of  a  small 
man,  the  whole  front  of  whose  clothing  was  saturated 
with  blood. 

"  Why,  Chahlie  Keene  !  Let  him  down  again,  quickly 
— quickly  ;  do  not  hold  him  so  !  " 

' '  Hands  off,"  came  in  a  ghastly  whisper  from  the  shape. 

"  Oh,  Chahlie,  my  boy " 

"  Go  and  finish  your  courtship,"  whispered  the 
doctor. 

' '  Oh  Charlie,  I  have  just  made  it  forhever  impossible  !  " 

"  Then  help  me  back  to  my  bed  ;  I  don't  care  to  die 
in  the  street." 


CHAPTER    XLV. 

MORE    REPARATION. 

"  THAT  is  all,"  said  the  fairer  Honor6,  outside  Doctor 
Keene's  sick-room  about  ten  o'clock  at  night.  He  was 
speaking  to  the  black  son  of  Clemence,  who  had  been 
serving  as  errand-boy  for  some  hours.  He  spoke  in  a 
low  tone  just  without  the  half-open  door,  folding  again  a 
paper  which  the  lad  had  lately  borne  to  the  apothecary 
of  the  rue  Royale,  and  had  now  brought  back  with 
Joseph's  answer  written  under  Honore's  inquiry. 

"  That  is  all,"  said  the  other  Honore,  standing  partly 
behind  the  first,  as  the  eyes  of  his  little  menial  turned 
upon  him  that  deprecatory  glance  of  inquiry  so  common 
to  slave  children.  The  lad  went  a  little  way  down  the 
corridor,  curled  up  upon  the  floor  against  the  wall,  and 
was  soon  asleep.  The  fairer  Honore  handed  the  darker 
the  slip  of  paper ;  it  was  received  and  returned  in 
silence  ;  the  question  was  : 

"  Can  you  state  anything  positive  concerning  the  duel  ?  " 

And  the  reply : 

"  Positively  there  will  be  none.     Sylvestre  my  sworn  friend for  life." 

The  half-brothers  sat  down  under  a  dim  hanging  lamp 
in  the  corridor,  and  except  that  every  now  and  then  one 
or  the  other  stepped  noiselessly  to  the  door  to  look  in 


MORE  REPARATION.  35 1 

upon  the  sleeping  sick  man,  or  in  the  opposite  direction 
to  moderate  by  a  push  with  the  foot  the  snoring  of 
Clemence's  "  boy,"  they  sat  the  whole  night  through  in 
whispered  counsel. 

The  one,  at  the  request  of  the  other,  explained  how 
he  had  come  to  be  with  the  little  doctor  in  such  ex 
tremity. 

It  seems  that  Clemence,  seeing  and  understanding 
the  doctor's  imprudence,  had  sallied  out  with  the  resolve 
to  set  some  person  on  his  track.  We  have  said  that  she 
went  in  search  of  her  master.  Him  she  met,  and  though 
she  could  not  really  count  him  one  of  the  doctor's 
friends,  yet,  rightly  believing  in  his  humanity,  she  told 
him  the  matter.  He  set  off  in  what  was  for  him  a  quick 
pace  in  search  of  the  rash  invalid,  was  misdirected  by  a 
too  confident  child  and  had  given  up  the  hope  of  finding 
him,  when  a  faint  sound  of  distress  just  at  hand  drew 
him  into  an  alley,  where,  close  down  against  a  wall,  with 
his  face  to  the  earth,  lay  Doctor  Keene.  The  f.  m.  c. 
had  just  raised  him  and  borne  him  out  of  the  alley  when 
Honore  came  up. 

"And  you  say  that,  when  you  would  have  inquired 
for  him  at  Frowenfeld's,  you  saw  Palmyre  there,  standing 
and  talking  with  Frowenfeld  ?  Tell  me  more  exactly." 

And  the  other,  with  that  grave  and  gentle  economy 
of  words  which  made  his  speech  so  unique,  recounted 
what  we  amplify  : 

Palmyre  had  needed  no  pleading  to  induce  her  to  ex 
onerate  Joseph.  The  doctors  were  present  at  Frowen 
feld's  in  more  than  usual  number.  There  was  unusual- 
ness,  too,  in  their  manner  and  their  talk.  They  were 
not  entirely  free  from  the  excitement  of  the  day,  and  as 
.  they  talked — with  an  air  of  superiority,  of  Creole  in- 


352  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

flammability,  and  with  some  contempt — concerning 
Camilla  Brahmin's  and  Charlie  Mandarin's  efforts  to 
precipitate  a  war,  they  were  yet  visibly  in  a  state  of 
expectation.  Frowenfeld,  they  softly  said,  had  in  his 
odd  way  been  indiscreet  among  these  inflammables  at 
Maspero's  just  when  he  could  least  afford  to  be  so,  and 
there  was  no  telling  what  they  might  take  the  notion  to 
do  to  him  before  bedtime.  All  that  over  and  above  the 
independent,  unexplained  scandal  of  the  early  morning. 
So  Joseph  and  his  friends  this  evening,  like  Aurora  and 
Clotilde  in  the  morning,  were,  as  we  nowadays  say  of 
buyers  and  sellers,  "  apart,"  when  suddenly  and  unan 
nounced,  Palmyre  presented  herself  among  them.  When 
the  f.  m.  c.  saw  her,  she  had  already  handed  Joseph  his 
hat  and  with  much  sober  grace  was  apologizing  for  her 
slave's  mistake.  All  evidence  of  her  being  wounded 
was  concealed.  The  extraordinary  excitement  of  the 
morning  had  not  hurt  her,  and  she  seemed  in  perfect 
health.  The  doctors  sat  or  stood  around  and  gave  rapt 
attention  to  her  patois,  one  or  two  translating  it  for 
Joseph,  and  he  blushing  to  the  hair,  but  standing  erect 
and  receiving  it  at  second-hand  with  silent  bows.  The 
f.  m.  c.  had  gazed  on  her  for  a  moment,  and  then  forced 
himself  away.  He  was  among  the  few  who  had  not 
heard  the  morning  scandal,  and  he  did  not  comprehend 
the  evening  scene.  He  now  asked  Honore  concerning 
it,  and  quietly  showed  great  relief  when  it  was  explained. 

Then  Honore,  breaking  a  silence,  called  the  attention 
of  trie  f.  m.  c.  to  the  fact  that  the  latter  had  two  tenants 
at  No.  19  rue  Bienville.  Honore  became  the  narrator 
now  and  told  all,  finally  stating  that  the  die  was  cast — 
restitution  made. 

And  then  the   darker  Honore  made  a  proposition  to 


MORE  REPARATION.  353 

the  other,  which,  it  is  little  to  say,  was  startling.     They 
discussed  it  for  hours. 

"  So  just  a  condition,"  said  the  merchant,  raising  his' 
whisper  so  much  that  the  rentier  laid  a  hand  in  his  el 
bow, — "such  mere  justice,"  he  said,  more  softly, 
"ought  to  be  an  easy  condition.  God  knows" — he 
lifted  his  glance  reverently — "  my  very  right  to  exist 
comes  after  yours.  You  are  the  elder." 

The  solemn  man  offered  no  disclaimer. 

What  could  the  proposition  be  which  involved  so 
grave  an  issue,  and  to  which  M.  Grandissime's  final 
answer  was  "  I  will  do  it  "  ? 

It  was  that  Honore  f.  m.  c.  should  become  a  member 
of  the  mercantile  house  of  H.  Grandissime,  enlisting  in 
its  capital  all  his  wealth.  And  the  one  condition  was 
that  the  new  style  should  be  Grandissime  Brothers. 


CHAPTER   XLVI. 

THE   PIQUE-EN-TERRE   LOSES   ONE   OF   HER   CREW. 

ASK  the  average  resident  of  New  Orleans  if  his  town 
is  on  an  island,  and  he  will  tell  you  no.  He  will  also 
wonder  how  any  one  could  have  got  that  notion, — so 
completely  has  Orleans  Island,  whose  name  at  the  begin 
ning  of  the  present  century  was  in  everybody's  mouth, 
been  forgotten.  It  was  once  a  question  of  national 
policy,  a  point  of  difference  between  Republican  and 
Federalist,  whether  the  United  States  ought  to  buy  this 
little  strip  of  semi-submerged  land,  or  whether  it  would 
not  be  more  righteous  to  steal  it.  The  Kentuckians 
kept  the  question  at  a  red  heat  by  threatening  to  be 
come  an  empire  by  themselves  if  one  course  or  the  oth 
er  was  not  taken  ;  but  when  the  First  Consul  offered  to 
sell  all  Louisiana,  our  commissioners  were  quite  robbed 
of  breath.  They  had  approached  to  ask  a  hair  from  the 
elephant's  tail,  and  were  offered  the  elephant. 

For  Orleans  Island — island  it  certainly  was  until  Gen 
eral  Jackson  closed  Bayou  Manchac — is  a  narrow,  irregu 
lar,  flat  tract  of  forest,  swamp,  city,  prairie  and  sea- 
marsh  lying  east  and  west,  with  the  Mississippi,  trending 
south-eastward,  for  its  southern  boundary,  and  for  its 
northern,  a  parallel  and  contiguous  chain  of  alternate 
lakes  and  bayous,  opening  into  the  river  through  Bayou 
Manchac,  and  into  the  Gulf  through  the  passes  of  the 


THE  PIQ  UE-EN-  TERRE  L  OSES  ONE  OF  HER  CRE  W.    355 

Malheureuse  Islands.  On  the  narrowest  part  of  it  stands 
New  Orleans.  Turning  and  looking  back  over  the  rear 
of  the  town,  one  may  easily  see  from  her  steeples  Lake 
Pontchartrain  glistening  away  to  the  northern  horizon, 
and  in  his  fancy  extend  the  picture  to  right  and  left  till 
Pontchartrain  is  linked  in  the  west  by  Pass  Manchac  to 
Lake  Maurepas,  and  in  the  east  by  the  Rigolets  and 
Chef  Menteur  to  Lake  Borgne. 

An  oddity  of  the  Mississippi  Delta  is  the  habit  the 
little  streams  have  of  running  away  from  the  big  ones. 
The  river  makes  its  own  bed  and  its  own  banks,  and 
continuing  season  after  season,  through  ages  of  alter 
nate  overflow  and  subsidence,  to  elevate  those  banks, 
creates  a  ridge  which  thus  becomes  a  natural  elevated 
aqueduct.  Other  slightly  elevated  ridges  mark  the  pres 
ent  or  former  courses  of  minor  outlets,  by  which  the 
waters  of  the  Mississippi  have  found  the  sea.  Between 
these  ridges  lie  the  cypress  swamps,  through  whose 
profound  shades  the  clear,  dark,  deep  bayous  creep 
noiselessly  away  into  the  tall  grasses  of  the  shaking 
prairies.  The  original  New  Orleans  was  built  on  the 
Mississippi  ridge,  with  one  of  these  forest-and-water-cov- 
ered  basins  stretching  back  behind  her  to  westward  and 
northward,  closed  in  by  Metairie  Ridge  and  Lake  Pont 
chartrain.  Local  engineers  preserve  the  tradition  that 
the  Bayou  Sauvage  once  had  its  rise,  so  to  speak,  in 
Toulouse  street.  Though  depleted  by  the  city's  pres 
ent  drainage  system  and  most  likely  poisoned  by  it  as 
well,  its  waters  still  move  seaward  in  a  course  almost 
due  easterly,  and  empty  into  Chef  Menteur,  one  of  the 
watery  threads  of  a  tangled  skein  of  "  passes  "  between 
the  lakes  and  the  open  Gulf.  Three-quarters  of  a  cen 
tury  ago  this  Bayou  Sauvage  (or  Gentilly — corruption 


356  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

of  Chantilly)  was  a  navigable  stream  of  wild  and  sombre 
beauty. 

On  a  certain  morning  in  August,  1804,  and  conse 
quently  some  five  months  after  the  events  last  men 
tioned,  there  emerged  from  the  darkness  of  Bayou  Sau- 
vage  into  the  prairie-bordered  waters  of  Chef  Menteur, 
while  the  morning  star  was  still  luminous  in  the  sky 
above  and  in  the  water  below,  and  only  the  practised 
eye  could  detect  the  first  glimmer  of  day,  a  small, 
stanch,  single-masted,  broad  and  very  light-draught 
boat,  whose  innocent  character,  primarily  indicated  in 
its  coat  of  many  colors, — the  hull  being  yellow  below 
the  water  line  and  white  above,  with  tasteful  stripings 
of  blue  and  red, — was  further  accentuated  by  the  peace 
ful  name  of  Piquc-en-terre  (the  Sandpiper). 

She  seemed,  too,  as  she  entered  the  Chef  Menteur,  as 
if  she  would  have  liked  to  turn  southward  ;  but  the  wind 
did  not  permit  this,  and  in  a  moment  more  the  water 
was  rippling  after  her  swift  rudder,  as  she  glided  away 
in  the  direction  of  Pointe  Aux  Herbes.  But  when  she 
had  left  behind  her  the  mouth  of  the  passage,  she 
changed  her  course  and,  leaving  the  Pointe  on  her  left, 
bore  down  toward  Petites  Coquilles,  obviously  bent  upon 
passing  through  the  Rigolets. 

We  know  not  how  to  describe  the  joyousness  of  the 
effect  when  at  length  one  leaves  behind  him  the  shadow 
and  gloom  of  the  swamp,  and  there  bursts  upon  his 
sight  the  widespread,  flower-decked,  bird-haunted  prai 
ries  of  Lake  Catharine.  The  inside  and  outside  of  a 
prison  scarcely  furnish  a  greater  contrast ;  and  on  this 
fair  August  morning  the  contrast  was  at  its  strongest. 
The  day  broke  across  a  glad  expanse  of  cool  and  fra 
grant  green,  silver-laced  with  a  net-work  of  crisp  salt 


THE  PIQUE-EN-TERRE  LOSES  ONE  OF  HER  CREW.    357 

pools  and  passes,  lakes,  bayous  and  lagoons,  th'at  gave 
a  good  smell,  the  inspiring  odor  of  interclasped  sea  and 
shore,  and  both  beautified  and  perfumed  the  happy 
earth,  laid  bare  to  the  rising  sun.  Waving  marshes  of 
wild  oats,  drooping  like  sated  youth  from  too  much  plea 
sure  ;  watery  acres  hid  under  crisp-growing  greenth 
starred  with  pond-lilies  and  rippled  by  water-fowl ; 
broad  stretches  of  high  grass,  with  thousands  of  ecstatic 
wings  palpitating  above  them  ;  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  white  and  pink  mallows  clapping  their  hands  in  voice 
less  rapture,  and  that  amazon  queen  of  the  wild  flowers, 
the  morning-glory,  stretching  her  myriad  lines,  lifting 
up  the  trumpet  and  waving  her  colors,  white,  azure  and 
pink,  with  lacings  of  spider's  web,  heavy  with  pearls  ^ 
and  diamonds — the  gifts  of  the  summer  night.  The 
crew  of  the  Pique-en-terre  saw  all  these  and  felt  them  ; 
for,  whatever  they  may  have  been  or  failed  to  be,  they 
were  men  whose  heart-strings  responded  to  the  touches 
of  nature.  One  alone  of  their  company,  and  he  the  one 
who  should  have  felt  them  most,  showed  insensibility, 
sighed  laughingly  and  then  laughed  sighingly  in  the 
face  of  his  fellows  and  of  all  this  beauty,  and  profanely 
confessed  that  his  heart's  desire  was  to  get  back  to  his 
wife.  He  had  been  absent  from'  her  now  for  nine 
hours  ! 

But  the  sun  is  getting  high  ;  Petites  Coquilles  has 
been  passed  and  left  astern,  the  eastern  end  of  Las  Con 
chas  is  on  the  after-larboard-quarter,  the  briny  waters 
of  Lake  Borgne  flash  far  and  wide  their  dazzling  white 
and  blue,  and,  as  the  little  boat  issues  from  the  deep 
channel  of  the  Rigolets,  the  white-armed  waves  catch 
her  and  toss  her  like  a  merry  babe.  A  triumph  for  the 
helmsman — he  it  is  who  sighs,  at  intervals  of  tiresome 


358  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

frequency,  for  his  wife.  He  had,  from  the  very  starting- 
place  in  the  upper  waters  of  Bayou  Sauvage,  declared  in 
favor  of  the  Rigolets  as — wind  and  tide  considered — the 
most  practicable  of  all  the  passes.  Now  that  they  were 
out,  he  forgot  for  a  moment  the  self-amusing  plaint  of 
conjugal  separation  to  flaunt  his  triumph.  Would  any 
one  hereafter  dispute  with  him  on  the  subject  of  Louisi 
ana  sea-coast-navigation  ?  He  knew  every  pass  and 
piece  of  water  like  A,  B,  C,  and  could  tell,  faster,  much 
faster  than  he  could  repeat  the  multiplication  table  (upon 
which  he  was  a  little  slow  and  doubtful),  the  amount  of 
water  in  each  at  ebb  tide — Pass  Jean  or  Petit  Pass,  Un 
known  Pass,  Petit  Rigolet,  Chef  Menteur,— 

Out  on  the  far  southern  horizon,  in  the  Gulf — the 
Gulf  of  Mexico — there  appears  a  speck  of  white.  It  is 
known  to  those  on  board  the  Pique-en-terre,  the  mo 
ment  it  is  descried,  as  the  canvas  of  a  large  schooner. 
The  opinion,  first  expressed  by  the  youthful  husband, 
who  still  reclines  with  the  tiller  held  firmly  under  his 
arm,  and  then  by  another  member  of  the  company  who 
sits  on  the  centre-board-well,  is  unanimously  adopted, 
that  she  is  making  for  the  Rigolets,  will  pass  Petites 
Coquilles  by  eleven  o'clock,  and  will  tie  up  at  the  little 
port  of  St.  Jean,  on  the  bayou  of  the  same  name,  before 
sundown,  if  the  wind  holds  anywise  as  it  is. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  master  of  the  distant  schooner 
shuts  his  glass,  and  says  to  the  single  passenger  whom 
he  has  aboard  that  the  little  sail  just  visible  toward  the 
Rigolets  is  a  sloop  with  a. half-deck,  well  filled  with 
men,  in  all  probability  a  pleasure-party  bound  to  the 
Chandcleurs  on  a  fishing  and  gunning  excursion,  and 
passes  into  comments  on  the  superior  skill  of  landsmen 
over  seamen  in  the  handling  of  small  sailing  craft. 


THE  PIQUE-EN-TERRE  LOSES  ONE  OF  HER  CREW.    359 

By  and  by  the  two  vessels  near  each  other.  They 
approach  within  hailing  distance,  and  are  announcing 
each  to  each  their  identity,  when  the  young  man  at  the 
tiller  jerks  himself  to  a  squatting  posture,  and,  from 
under  a  broad-brimmed  and  slouched  straw  hat,  cries  to 
the  schooner's  one  passenger  : 

"Hello,  Challie  Keene  !" 

And  the  passenger  more  quietly  answers  back  : 

"  Hello,  Raoul,  is  that  you  ?  " 

M.  Innerarity  replied,  with  a  profane  parenthesis,  that 
it  was  he. 

"  You  kin  hask  Sylvestre !  "  he  concluded. 

The  doctor's  eye  passed  around  a  semicircle  of  some 
eight  men,  the  most  of  whom  were  quite  young,  but 
one  or  two  of  whom  were  gray,  sitting  with  their  arms 
thrown  out  upon  the  wash-board,  in  the  dark  neglig6 
of  amateur  fishermen  and  with  that  exultant  look  of  ex 
pectant  deviltry  in  their  handsome  faces  which  charac 
terizes  the  Creole  with  his  collar  off. 

The  mettlesome  little  doctor  felt  the  odds  against  him 
in  the  exchange  of  greetings. 

"  Ola,  Dawctah  !  " 

"  /#,  Doctah,  que-ce  qui  fapresfe?  " 

"  Ho>  ho,  compere  Noyo  !  " 

"  Comment  va,  Docta  ?  " 

A  light  peppering  of  profanity  accompanied  each  sa 
lute. 

The  doctor  put  on  defensively  a  smile  of  superiority 
to  the  juniors  and  of  courtesy  to  the  others,  and  respon- 
sively  spoke  their  names  : 

"  'Polyte  —  Sylvestre  —  Achille — Emile — ah  !  Aga 
memnon." 

The  Doctor  and  Agamemnon  raised  their  hats. 


360  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

As  Agamemnon  was  about  to  speak,  a  general  expos- 
tulatory  outcry  drowned  his  voice  ;  the  Pique-en-terre 
was  going  about  close  abreast  of  the  schooner,  and 
angry  questions  and  orders  were  flying  at  Raoul's  head 
like  a  volley  of  eggs. 

"  Messieurs,"  said  Raoul,  partially  rising  but  still 
stooping  over  the  tiller,  and  taking  his  hat  off  his  bright 
curls  with  mock  courtesy,  "  I  am  going  back  to  New 
Orleans.  I  would  not  give  that  for  all  the  fish  in  the 
sea  ;  I  want  to  see  my  wife.  I  am  going  back  to  New 
Orleans  to  see  my  wife — and  to  congratulate  the  city 
upon  your  absence."  Incredulity,  expostulation,  re 
proach,  taunt,  malediction — he  smiled  unmoved  upon 
them  all.  "  Messieurs,  I  must  go  and  see  my  wife." 

Amid  redoubled  outcries  he  gave  the  helm  to  Camille 
Brahmin,  and  fighting  his  way  with  his  pretty  feet 
against  half-real  efforts  to  throw  him  overboard,  clam 
bered  forward  to  the  mast,  whence  a  moment  later,  with 
the  help  of  the  schooner-master's  hand,  he  reached  the 
deck  of  the  larger  vessel.  The  Pique-en-terre  turned, 
and  with  a  little  flutter  spread  her  smooth  wing  and 
skimmed  away. 

"  Doctah  Keene,  look  yeh  !  "  M.  Innerarity  held  up 
a  hand  whose  third  finger  wore  the  conventional  ring  of 
the  Creole  bridegroom.  "  Wat  you  got  to  say  to 
dat  ?  " 

The  little  doctor  felt  a  faintness  run  through  his  veins, 
and  a  thrill  of  anger  follo'w  it.  The  poor  man  could 
not  imagine  a  love  affair  that  did  not  include  Clotilde 
Nancanou. 

"  Whom  have  you  married  ?  " 

"  De  pritties*  gal  in  de  citty." 

The  questioner  controlled  himself. 


THE  PIQ  UE-EN-  TERRE  L  OSES  ONE  OF  HER  CRE  W.    361 

"  M-hum,"  he  responded,  with  a  contraction  of  the 
eyes. 

Raoul  waited  an  instant  for  some  kindlier  comment, 
and  finding  the  hope  vain,  suddenly  assumed  a  look  of 
delighted  admiration. 

"  Hi,  yi,  yi  !     Doctah,  'ow  you  har  lookingue  fine." 

The  true  look  of  the  doctor  was  that  he  had  not  much 
longer  to  live.  A  smile  of  bitter  humor  passed  over 
his  face,  and  he  looked  for  a  near  seat,  saying  : 

"  How's  Frowenfeld  ?  " 

Raoul  struck  an  ecstatic  attitude  and  stretched  forth 
his  hand  as  if  the  doctor  could  not  fail  to  grasp  it.  The 
invalid's  heart  sank  like  lead. 

"  Frowenfeld  has  got  her,"  he  thought. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  he  with  a  frown  of  impatience  and  re 
straint  ;  and  Raoul  cried  : 

"  I  sole  my  pig-shoe  !  " 

The  doctor  could  not  help  but  laugh. 

"  Shades  of  the  masters  !  " 

"  No  ;  '  Louizyanna  rif-using  to  hantre  de  h-Union.'  " 

The  doctor  stood  corrected. 

The  two  walked  across  the  deck,  following  the  shadow 
of  the  swinging  sail.  The  doctor  lay  down  in  a  low- 
swung  hammock,  and  Raoul  sat  upon  the  deck  a  la 
Turque. 

"  Come,  come,  Raoul,  tell  me,  what  is  the  news  ?  " 

"  News  ?  Oh,  I  donno.  You  'card  concernin'  the 
dool?" 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say " 

"Yesseh  !" 

"  Agricola  and  Sylvestre  ?  " 

"  Wat  de  dev'  !     No  !  Burr  an'  'Ammiltong  ;  in  Noo- 
Juzzylas-June.     Collonnel  Burr,  'e— 
16 


362  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  Oh,  fudge  !  yes.     How  is  Frowenfeld  ?  " 

"  'E's  well.     Guess  'ow  much  I  sole  my  pig-shoe." 

"  Well,  how  much  ?  " 

"Two  'ondred  fifty."  He  laid  himself  out  at  length, 
his  elbow  on  the  deck,  his  head  in  his  hand.  "  I  be 
lieve  I'm  sorry  I  sole  'er." 

"I  don't  wonder.  How's  Honore  ?  Tell  me  what 
has  happened.  Remember,  -  I've  been  away  five 
months." 

"  No  ;  I  am  verrie  glad  dat  I  sole  'er.  What  ?  Ha  !  I 
should  think  so  !  If  it  have  not  had  been  fo'  dat  I  would 
not  be  married  to-day.  You  think  I  would  get  married 
on  dat  sal'rie  w'at  Proffis-or  Frowenfel'  was  payin'  me  ? 
Twenty-five  dolla'  de  mont'  ?  Docta  Keene,  no  gen'le- 
man  h-ought  to  git  married  if  'e  'ave  not  anny'ow  fifty 
dolla'  de  mont'  !  If  I  wasn'  a  h-artiz  I  wouldn'  git  mar 
ried  ;  I  gie  you  my  word  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  little  doctor,  "  you  are  right.  Now 
tell  me  the  news." 

"Well,  dat  Cong-ress  gone  an'  mak'- 

"  Raoul,  stop.  I  know  that  Congress  has  divided 
the  province  into  two  territories  ;  I  know  you  Creoles 
think  all  your  liberties  are  lost  ;  I  know  the  people  are 
in  a  great  stew  because  they  are  not  allowed  to  elect 
their  own  officers  and  legislatures,  and  that  in  Opelousas 
and  Attakapas  they  are  as  wild  as  their  cattle  about 
it " 

"We  'ad  two  big  mitting'  about  it,"  interrupted 
Raoul ;  "  my  bro'r-in-law  speak  at  both  of  them  !  " 

"Who?" 

"  Chahlie  Mandarin." 

"Glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Doctor  Keene, — which  was 
the  truth.  "  Besides  that,  I  know  Laussat  has  gone  to 


THE  P1Q_UE-EN-TERRE  LOSES  ONE  OF  HER  CREW.    $63 

Martinique  ;  that  the  Americains  have  a  newspaper, 
and  that  cotton  is  two  bits  a  pound.  Now  what  I  want 
to  know  is,  how  are  my  friends?  What  has  Honore 
done  ?  What  has  Frowenfeld  done  ?  And  Palmyre, — 
and  Agricole  ?  They  hustled  me  away  from  here  as  if 
I  had  been  caught  trying  to  cut  my  throat.  Tell  me 
everything." 

And  Raoul  sank  the  artist  and  bridegroom  in  the  his 
torian,  and  told  him. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

THE   NEWS. 

"  MY  cousin  Honore, — well,  you  kin  jus'  say  'e  bit- 
ray*  'is  'ole  fam'ly." 

"  How  so  ?  "  asked  Doctor  Keene,  with  a  handker 
chief  over  his  face  to  shield  his  eyes  from  the  sun. 

"  Well, — ce't'nly  'e  did  !  DiV  'e  gave  dat  money  to 
Aurora  De  Grapion  ? — one  'undred  five  t'ousan'  dolla'  ? 
Jis'  as  if  to  say,  '  Yeh's  de  money  my  h-uncle  stole  from 
you'  'usban'.'  Hah  !  w'en  I  will  swear  on  a  stack  of 
Bible'  as  'igh  as  yo'  head,  dat  Agricole  win  dat  'abita- 
tion  fair ! — If  I  see  it  ?  No,  sir  ;  I  don't  'ave  to  see  it  ! 
I'll  swear  to  it  !  Hah  !  " 

"  And  have  she  and  her  daughter  actually  got  the 
money  ?  " 

"  She —  an'  —  heh  —  daughtah  —  ac  —  shilly  —  got-'at- 
money-sir  !  Wat?  Dey  livin'  in  de  rue  Royale  in 
mag-w/^ycen'  style  on  top  de  drug-sto'  of  Proffis-or 
Frowcnfel'." 

"But  how,  over  Frowenfeld's,  when  Frowenfeld's  is 
a  one  story " 

"My  dear  frien' !  Proffis-or  Frowenfel'  is  moovc ! 
You  rickleck  dat  big  new  t'ree-story  buildin'  w'at  jus' 
finished  in  de  rue  Royale,  a  lill  mo'  farther  up  town 
from  his  old  shop  ?  Well,  we  open  dare  a  big  sto>  / 
An'  listen  !  You  think  Honore  diV  bitrayed  'is  family  ? 


THE  NEWS. 

Madame  Nancanou  an'  heh  daughtah  livin'  upstair'  an' 
rissy-ving  de  finess  soci'ty  in  de  Province  ! — an'  me? — 
down-stair'  meckin'  pill'  !  You  call  dat  justice?" 

But  Doctor  Keene,  without  waiting  for  this  question, 
had  asked  one  : 

"  Does  Frowenfeld  board  with  them  ?  " 

"  Psh-sh-sh  !  Board  !  Dey  woon  board  de  Marquis 
of  Casa-Calvo  !  I  don't  b'lieve  dey  would  board  Ho 
nore  Grandissime  !  All  de  king'  an'  queen'  in  de  worl' 
couldn'  board  dare  !  No,  sir  ! — 'Owever,  you  know,  I 
think  dey  are  splendid  ladies.  Me  an'  my  wife,  we 
know  them  well.  An'  Honore — I  think  my  cousin  Ho- 
nore's  a  splendid  gen'leman,  too."  After  a  moment's 
pause  he  resumed,  with  a  happy  sigh,  "Well,  I  don' 
care,  I'm  married.  A  man  w'at's  married,  'e  don'  care. 
But  I  di'n'  think  Honore  could  ever  do  lak  dat  odder 
t'ing." 

"  Do  he  and  Joe  Frowenfeld  visit  there  ?  " 

"  Doctah  Keene,"  demanded  Raoul,  ignoring  the 
question,  "  I  hask  you  now,  plain,  don'  you  find  dat 
mighty  disgressful  to  do  dat  way,  lak  Honore  ?  " 

"What  way?" 

"W'at?  You  dunno  ?  You  don'  yeh  'ow 'e  gone 
partner'  wid  a  nigga  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Doctor  Keene  drew  the  handkerchief  off  his  face  and 
half  lifted  his  feeble  head. 

"  Yesseh  !  'e  gone  partner'  wid  dat  quadroon  w'at 
call  'imself  Honore  Grandissime,  seh  !  " 

The  doctor  dropped  his  head  again  and  laid  the  hand 
kerchief  back  on  his  face. 

"  What  do  the  family  say  to  that  ?  " 

"But  w'at  can  dey  say?     It  save  dem  from   ruin  ! 


366  THE   GRANDISSIMES. 

At  de  sem  time,  me,  I  think  it  is  a  disgress.  Not  dat 
he  h-use  de  money,  but  it  is  dat  name  w'at  'e  give  de 
h-establishmen' — Grandissime  Freres  !  H-only  for  'is 
money  we  would  'ave  catch'  dat  quadroon  gen'leman 
an'  put  some  tar  and  fedder.  Grandissime  Freres ! 
Agricole  don'  spink  to  my  cousin  Honore  no  mo'.  But 
I  think  dass  wrong.  W'at  you  t'ink,  Doctor  ?  " 

That  evening,  at  candle-light,  Raoul  got  the  right  arm 
of  his  slender,  laughing  wife  about  his  neck  ;  but  Doc 
tor  Keene  tarried  all  night  in  suburb  St.  Jean.  He 
hardly  felt  the  moral  courage  to  face  the  results  of  the 
last  five  months.  Let  us  understand  them  better  our 
selves. 


CHAPTER   XLVIII. 

AN   INDIGNANT  FAMILY   AND   A   SMASHED   SHOP. 

IT  was  indeed  a  fierce  storm  that  had  passed  over  the 
head  of  Honore  Grandissime.  Taken  up  and  carried  by 
it,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  without  volition,  he  had  felt  him 
self  thrown  here  and  there,  wrenched,  torn,  gasping  for 
moral  breath,  speaking  the  right  word  as  if  in  delirium, 
doing  the  right  deed  as  if  by  helpless  instinct,  and  see 
ing  himself  in  every  case,  at  every  turn,  tricked  by  cir 
cumstance  out  of  every  vestige  of  merit.  So  it  seemed 
to  him.  The  long  contemplated  restitution  was  accom 
plished.  On  the  morning  when  Aurora  and  Clotilde 
had  expected  to  be  turned  shelterless  into  the  open  air, 
they  had  called  upon  him  in  his  private  office  and  pre 
sented  the  account  of  which  he  had  put  them  in  posses 
sion  the  evening  before.  He  had  honored  it  on  the  spot. 
To  the  two  ladies  who  felt  their  own  hearts  stirred  almost 
to  tears  of  gratitude,  he  was — as  he  sat  before  them  calm, 
unmoved,  handling  keen-edged  facts  with  the  easy  rapid 
ity  of  one  accustomed  to  use  them,  smiling  courteously 
and  collectedly,  parrying  their  expressions  of  appreciation 
— to  them,  we  say,  at  least  to  one  of  them,  he  was  "  the 
prince  of  gentlemen."  But,  at  the  same  time,  there  was 
within  him,  unseen,  a  surge  of  emotions,  leaping,  lash 
ing,  whirling,  yet  ever  hurrying  onward  along  the  hid 
den,  rugged  bed  of  his  honest  intention. 


368  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

The  other  restitution,  which  even  twenty-four  hours 
earlier  might  have  seemed  a  pure  self-sacrifice,  became  a 
self-rescue.  The  f.  m.  c.  was  the  elder  brother.  A  re 
mark  of  Honore  made  the  night  they  watched  in  the 
corridor  by  Doctor  Keene's  door,  about  the  younger's 
"  right  to  exist,"  was  but  the  echo  of  a  conversation 
they  had  once  had  together  in  Europe.  There  they  had 
practised  a  familiarity  of  intercourse  which  Louisiana 
would  not  have  endured,  and  once,  when  speaking  upon 
the  subject  of  their  common  fatherhood,  the  f.  m.  c., 
prone  to  melancholy  speech,  had  said  : 

"  You  are  the  lawful  son  of  Numa  Grandissime  ;  I  had 
no  right  to  be  born." 

But  Honore  quickly  answered  : 

"  By  the  laws  of  men,  it  may  be  ;  but  by  the  law  of 
God's  justice,  you  are  the  lawful  son,  and  it  is  I  who 
should  not  have  been  born." 

But,  returned  to  Louisiana,  accepting  with  the  amia 
ble,  old-fashioned  philosophy  of  conservatism,  the  sins 
of  the  community,  he  had  forgotten  the  unchampioned 
rights  of  his  passive  half-brother.  Cftntact  with  Frowen- 
feld  had  robbed  him  of  his  pleasant  mental  drowsiness, 
and  the  oft-encountered  apparition  of  the  dark  sharer  of 
his  name  had  become  a  slow-stepping,  silent  embodi 
ment  of  reproach.  The  turn  of  events  had  brought  him 
face  to  face  with  the  problem  of  restitution,  and  he  had 
solved  it.  But  where  had  he  come  out  ?  He  had  come 
out  the  beneficiary  of  this  restitution,  extricated  from 
bankruptcy  by  an  agreement  which  gave  the  f.  m.  c. 
only  a  public  recognition  of  kinship  which  had  always 
been  his  due.  Bitter  cup  of  humiliation  ! 

Such  was  the  stress  within.  Then  there  was  the  storm 
without.  The  Grandissimes  were  in  a  high  state  of  ex- 


AN  INDIGNANT  FAMIL  Y  AND  A  SMASHED  SHOP.    369 

citement.  The  news  had  reached  them  all  that  Honore 
had  met  the  question  of  titles  by  selling  one  of  their 
largest  estates.  It  was  received  with  wincing  frowns, 
indrawn  breath,  and  lifted  feet,  but  without  protest,  and 
presently  with  a  smile  of  returning  confidence. 

"  Honore  knew  ;  Honore  was  informed  ;  they  had  all 
authorized  Honore ;  and  Honore,  though  he  might  have 
his  odd  ways  and  notions,  picked  up  during  that  unfor 
tunate  stay  abroad,  might  safely  be  trusted  to  stand  by 
the  interests  of  his  people." 

After  the  first  shock,  some  of  them  even  raised  a 
laugh  : 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !     Honore  would  show  those  Yankees  !  " 

They  went  to  his  counting-room  and  elsewhere,  in  search 
of  him,  to  smite  their  hands  into  the  hands  of  their  far- 
seeing  young  champion.  But,  as  we  have  seen,  they  did 
not  find  him  ;  none  dreamed  of  looking  for  him  in  an 
enemy's  camp  (19  Bienville)  or  on  the  lonely  suburban 
commons,  talking  to  himself  in  the  ghostly  twilight ;  and 
the  next  morning,  while  Aurora  and  Clotilde  were  seated 
before  him  in  his  private  office,  looking  first  at  the  face 
and  then  at  the  back  of  two  mighty  drafts  of  equal 
amount  on  Philadelphia,  the  cry  of  treason  flew  forth  to 
these  astounded  Grandissimes,  followed  by  the  word  that 
the  sacred  fire  was  gone  out  in  the  Grandissime  temple 
(counting-room),  that  Delilahs  in  duplicate  were  carry 
ing  off  the  holy  treasures,  and  that  the  uncircumcised  and 
unclean  —  even  an  f.  m.  c. — was  about  to  be  inducted  into 
the  Grandissime  priesthood. 

Aurora  and  Clotilde  were  still  there,  when  the  various 

members  of  the  family  began  to  arrive  and  display  their 

outlines  in  impatient  shadow-play  upon  the  glass  door 

of  the  private  office  ;  now  one,  and  now  another,  dallied 

16* 


3/0  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

with  the  door-knob  and  by  and  by  obtruded  their  lifted 
hats  and  urgent,  anxious  faces  half  into  the  apartment ; 
but  Honore  would  only  glance  toward  them,  and  with  a 
smile  equally  courteous,  authoritative  and  fleeting,  say : 

"  Good-morning,  Camille  "  (or  Chahlie — or  Agamem 
non,  as  the  case  might  be),  "  I  will  see  you  later  ;  let  me 
trouble  you  to  close  the  door." 

To  add  yet  another  strain,  the  two  ladies,  like  fright 
ened,  rescued  children,  would  cling  to  their  deliverer. 
They  wished  him  to  become  the  custodian  and  investor 
of  their  wealth.  Ah,  woman  !  who  is  a  tempter  like 
thee  ?  But  Honore  said  no,  and  showed  them  the  danger 
of  such  a  course. 

"Suppose  I  should  die  suddenly.  You  might  have 
trouble  with  my  executors." 

The  two  beauties  assented  pensively ;  but  in  Aurora's 
bosom  a  great  throb  secretly  responded  that  as  for  her, 
in  that  case,  she  should  have  no  use  for  money — in  a 
nunnery. 

"  Would  not  Monsieur  at  least  consent  to  be  their 
financial  adviser  ?  " 

He  hemmed,  commenced  a  sentence  twice,  and  finally 
said  : 

"  You  will  need  an  agent ;  some  one  to  take  full  charge 
of  your  affairs  ;  some  person  on  whose  sagacity  and  integ 
rity  you  can  place  the  fullest  dependence." 

"  Who,  for  instance  ?  "  asked  Aurora. 

"  I  should  say,  without  hesitation,  Professor  Frowen- 
feld,  the  apothecary.  You  know  his  trouble  of  yester 
day  is  quite  cleared  up.  You  had  not  heard  ?  Yes. 
He  is  not  what  we  call  an  enterprising  man,  but — so 
much  the  better.  Take  him  all  in  all,  I  would  choose 
him  above  all  others  ;  if  you " 


AN  INDIGNANT  FAMILY  AND  A  SMASHED  SHOP.    37 1 

Aurora  interrupted  him.  There  was  an  ill-concealed 
wildness  in  her  eye  and  a  slight  tremor  in  her  voice,  as 
she  spoke,  which  she  had  not  expected  to  betray.  The 
quick,  though  quiet,  eye  of  Honore  Grandissime  saw  it, 
and  it  thrilled  him  through. 

"  'Sieur  Grandissime,  I  take  the  risk;  I  wish  you  to 
take  care  of  my  money." 

"  But,  Maman,"  said  Clotilde,  turning  with  a  timid 
look  to  her  mother,  "  if  Monsieur  Grandissime  would 
rather  not " 

Aurora,  feeling  alarmed  at  what  she  had  said,  rose  up. 
Clotilde  and  Honore  did  the  same,  and  he  said  : 

"  With  Professor  Frowenfeld  in  charge  of  your  affairs, 
I  shall  feel  them  not  entirely  removed  from  my  care  also. 
We  are  very  good  friends." 

Clotilde  looked  at  her  mother.  The  three  exchanged 
glances.  The  ladies  signified  their  assent  and  turned  to 
go,  but  M.  Grandissime  stopped  them. 

''By  your  leave,  I  will  send  for  him.  If  you  will  be 
seated  again " 

They  thanked  him  and  resumed  their  seats  ;  he  ex 
cused  himself,  and  passed  into  the  counting-room  and 
sent  a  messenger  for  the  apothecary. 

M.  Grandissime's  meeting  with  his  kinsmen  was  a 
stormy  one.  Aurora  and  Clotilde  heard  the  strife  begin, 
increase,  subside,  rise  again  and  decrease.  They  heard 
men  stride  heavily  to  and  fro,  they  heard  hands  smite 
together,  palms  fall  upon  tables  and  fists  upon  desks, 
heard  half-understood  statement  and  unintelligible  coun 
ter-statement  and  derisive  laughter  ;  and,  in  the  midst 
of  all,  like  the  voice  of  a  man  who  rules  himself,  the  clear- 
noted,  unimpassioned  speech  of  Honore,  sounding  so  lof 
tily  beautiful  in  the  ear  of  Aurora  that  when  Clotilde 


372  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

looked  at  her,  sitting  motionless  with  her  rapt  eyes  lifted 
up,  those  eyes  came  down  to  her  own  with  a  sparkle  of 
enthusiasm,  and  she  softly  said  : 

"  It  sounds  like  St.  Gabriel !  "  and  then  blushed. 

Clotilde  answered  with  a  happy,  meaning  look,  which 
intensified  the  blush,  and  then  leaning  affectionately 
forward  and  holding  the  maman's  eyes  with  her  own, 
she  said  : 

"  You  have  my  consent." 

"  Saucy  !  "  said  Aurora.     "  Wait  till  I  get  my  own  !  " 

Some  of  his  kinsmen  Honore  pacified ;  some  he 
silenced.  He  invited  all  to  withdraw  their  lands  and 
moneys  from  his  charge,  and  some  accepted  the  invita 
tion.  They  spurned  his  parting  advice  to  sell,  and  the 
policy  they  then  adopted,  and  never  afterward  modified, 
was  that  "all  or  nothing"  attitude  which,  as  years  rolled 
by,  bled  them  to  penury  in  those  famous  cupping-leech- 
ing-and-bleeding  establishments,  the  courts  of  Louisiana. 
You  may  see  their  grandchildren,  to-day,  anywhere 
within  the  angle  of  the  old  rues  Esplanade  and  Rampart, 
holding  up  their  heads  in  unspeakable  poverty,  their  no 
bility  kept  green  by  unflinching  self-respect,  and  their 
poetic  and  pathetic  pride  revelling  in  ancestral,  perennial 
rebellion  against  common  sense. 

"  That  is  Agricola,"  whispered  Aurora,  with  lifted 
head  and  eyes  dilated  and  askance,  as  one  deep-chested 
voice  roared  above  all  others. 

Agricola  stormed. 

"  Uncle,"  Aurora  by  and  by  heard  Honor^  say, 
"  shall  I  leave  my  own  counting-room  ?  " 

At  that  moment  Joseph  Frowenfeld  entered,  paus 
ing  with  one  hand  on  the  outer  rail.  No  one  noticed 
him  but  Honore,  who  was  watching  for  him,  and  who, 


AN  INDIGNANT  FAMILY  AND  A  SMASHED  SHOP.   3/3 

by  a  silent  motion,  directed  him  into  the  private 
office. 

"  H-whe  shake  its  dust  from  our  feet !  "  said  Agricola, 
gathering  some  young  retainers  by  a  sweep  of  his  glance 
and  going  out  down  the  stair  in  the  arched  way,  un 
moved  by  the  fragrance  of  warm  bread.  On  the  ban 
quette  he  harangued  his  followers. 

He  said  that  in  such  times  as  these  every  lover  of 
liberty  should  go  armed  ;  that  the  age  of  trickery  had 
come  ;  that  by  trickery  Louisianians  had  been  sold,  like 
cattle,  to  a  nation  of  parvenues,  to  be  dragged  before 
juries  for  asserting  the  human  right  of  free  trade  or 
ridding  the  earth  of  sneaks  in  the  pay  of  the  goverment ; 
that  laws,  so-called,  had  been  forged  into  thumb-screws, 
and  a  Congress  which  had  bound  itself  to  give  them  all 
the  rights  of  American  citizens — sorry  boon  !— was  pre 
paring  to  slip  their  birthright  acres  from  under  their 
feet,  and  leave  them  hanging,  a  bait  to  the  vultures  of 
the  Americain  immigration.  Yes  ;  the  age  of  trickery  ! 
Its  apostles,  he  said,  were  even  then  at  work  among 
their  fellow-citizens,  warping,  distorting,  blasting,  cor 
rupting,  poisoning  the  noble,  unsuspecting,  confiding 
Creole  mind.  For  months  the  devilish  work  had  been 
allowed,  by  a  patient,  peace-loving  people  to  go  on. 
But  shall  it  go  on  forever  ?  (Cries  of  "  No  !"  "No!'') 
The  smell  of  white  blood  comes  on  the  south  breeze. 
Dessalines  and  Christophe  have  recommenced  their 
hellish  work.  Virginia,  too,  trembles  for  the  safety  of 
her  fair  mothers  and  daughters.  We  know  not  what  is 
being  plotted  in  the  cane-brakes  of  Louisiana.  But  we 
know  that  in  the  face  of  these  things  the  prelates  of 
trickery  are  sitting  in  Washington  allowing  throats  to  go 
unthrottled  that  talked  tenderly  about  the  "negro 


374  THE   GRANDISSIMES. 

slave "  ;  we  know  worse  :  we  know  that  mixed  blood 
has  asked  for  equal  rights  from  a  son  of  the  Louisiana 
noblesse,  and  that  those  sacred  rights  have  been  treach 
erously,  pusillanimously  surrendered  into  its  possession. 
Why  did  we  not  rise  yesterday,  when  the  public  heart 
was  stirred  ?  The  forbearance  of  this  people  would  be 
absurd  if  it  were  not  saintly.  But  the  time  has  come 
when  Louisiana  must  protect  herself!  If  there  is  one 
here  who  will  not  strike  for  his  lands,  his  rights  and  the 
purity  of  his  race,  let  him  speak  !  (Cries  of  "  We  will 
rise  now  !  "  "  Give  us  a  leader  !  "  "  Lead  the  way  !  " ) 

"  Kinsmen,  friends,"  continued  Agricola,  "  meet  me 
at  nightfall  before  the  house  of  this  too-longed-spared 
mulatto.  Come  armed.  Bring  a  few  feet  of  stout  rope. 
By  morning  the  gentlemen  of  color  will  know  their  places 
better  than  they  do  to-day  ;  h-whe  shall  understand  each 
other  !  H-whe  shall  set  the  negrophiles  to  meditating." 

He  waved  them  away. 

With  a  huzza  the  accumulated  crowd  moved  off. 
Chance  carried  them  up  the  rue  Royale  ;  they  sang  a 
song  ;  they  came  to  Frowenfeld's.  It  was  an  Americain 
establishment;  that  was  against  it.  It  was  a  gossiping 
place  of  Americain  evening  loungers  ;  that  was  against 
it.  It  was  a  sorcerer's  den — (we  are  on  an  ascending 
scale)  ;  its  proprietor  had  refused  employment  to  some 
there  present,  had  refused  credit  to  others,  was  an  im 
pudent  condemner  of  the  most  approved  Creole  sins, 
had  been  beaten  over  the  head  only  the  day  before ;  all 
these  were  against  it.  But,  worse  still,  the  building 
was  owned  by  the  f.  m.  c.,  and  unluckiest  of  all,  Raoul 
stood  in  the  door  and  some  of  his  kinsmen  in  the  crowd 
stopped  to  have  a  word  with  him.  The  crowd  stopped. 
A  nameless  fellow  in  the  throng — he  was  still  singing— 


'AN  INDIGNANT  FAMIL  Y  AND  A  SMASHED  SHOP.    375 

said  :  "  Here's  the  place,"  and  dropped  two  bricks  through 
the  glass  of  the  show-window.  Raoul ,  with  a  cry  of  retalia- 
tive  rage,  drew  and  lifted  a  pistol ;  but  a  kinsman  jerked 
it  from  him  and  three  others  quickly  pinioned  him  and 
bore  him  off  struggling,  pleased  to  get  him  away  unhurt. 
In  ten  minutes,  Frowenfeld's  was  a  broken-windowed, 
open-doored  house,  full  of  unrecognizable  rubbish  that 
had  escaped  the  torch  only  through  a  chance  rumor  that 
the  Governor's  police  were  coming,  and  the  consequent 
stampede  of  the  mob. 

Joseph  was  sitting  in  M.  Grandissime's  private  office, 
in  council  with  him  and  the  ladies,  and  Aurora  was  just 
saying  : 

"  Well,  anny'ow,  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  ad  laz  you  con- 
sen'  !  "  and  gathering  her  veil  from  her  lap,  when  Raoul 
bust  in,  all  sweat  and  rage. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  we  ruin'  !  Ow  pharmacie  knock 
all  in  pieces  !  My  pig-shoe  is  los'  !  " 

He  dropped  into  a  chair  and  burst  into  tears. 

Shall  we  never  learn  to  withhold  our  tears  until  we 
are  sure  of  our  trouble  ?  Raoul  little  knew  the  joy  in 
store  for  him.  Tolyte,  it  transpired  the  next  day,  had 
rushed  in  after  the  first  volley  of  missiles,  and  while 
others  were  gleefully  making  off  with  jars  of  asafcetida 
and  decanters  of  distilled  water,  lifted  in  his  arms  and 
bore  away  unharmed  "Louisiana"  firmly  refusing  to 
the  last  to  enter  the  Union.  It  may  not  be  premature 
to  add  that  about  four  weeks  later  Honore  Grandissime, 
upon  Raotil's  announcement  that  he  was  "betrothed," 
purchased  this  painting  and  presented  it  to  a  club  of 
natural  connoisseurs. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

OVER   THE   NEW   STORE. 

THE  accident  of  the  ladies  Nancanou  making  their 
new  home  over  Frowenfeld's  drug-store,  occurred  in  the 
following  rather  amusing  way.  It  chanced  that  the  build 
ing  was  about  completed  at  the  time  that  the  apothecary's 
stock  in  trade  was  destroyed  ;  Frowenfeld  leased  the  lower 
floor.  Honore  Grandissime  f.  m.  c.  was  the  owner.  He 
being  concealed  from  his  enemies,  Joseph  treated  with 
that  person's  inadequately  remunerated  employe.  In 
those  days,  as  still  in  the  old  French  Quarter,  it  was  not 
uncommon  for  persons,  even  of  wealth,  to  make  their 
homes  over  stores,  and  buildings  were  constructed  with 
a  view  to  their  partition  in  'this  way.  Hence,  in  Chartres 
and  Decatur  streets,  to-day — and  in  the  cross-streets 
between,  so  many  store-buildings  with  balconies,  dormer 
windows,  and  sometimes  even  belvideres.  This  new 
building  caught  the  eye  and  fancy  of  Aurora  and  Clotilde. 
The  apartments  for  the  store  were  entirely  isolated. 
Through  a  large  porte-cochere,  opening  upon  the  ban 
quette  immediately  beside  and  abreast  of  the  store-front, 
one  entered  a  high,  covered  carriage-way  with  a  tesse- 
lated  pavement  and  green  plastered  walls,  and  reached, — 
just  where  this  way  (corridor,  the  Creoles  always  called 
it)  opened  into  a  sunny  court  surrounded  with  narrow 
parterres, — a  broad  stairway  leading  to  a  hall  over  the 


OVER    THE  NEW  STORE.  377 

"  corridor  "  and  to  the  drawing-rooms  over  the  store. 
They  liked  it !  Aurora  would  find  out  at  once  what 
sort  of  an  establishment  was  likely  to  be  opened  below, 
and  if  that  proved  unexceptionable  she  would  lease  the 
upper  part  without  more  ado. 

Next  day  she  said  : 

"  Clotilde,  thou  beautiful,  I  have  signed  the  lease  !  " 

"Then  the  store  below  is  to  be  occupied  by  a — 
what  ?  " 

"  Guess !  " 

"Ah!" 

"  Guess  a  pharmacien  !  " 

Clotilde's  lips  parted,  she  was  going  to  smile,  when 
her  thought  changed  and  she  blushed  offendedly. 

"Not " 

"  'Sieur  Frowenf ah,  ha,  ha,  ha  ! — /ia,  ha,  ha  !  " 

Clotilde  burst  into  tears. 

Still  they  moved  in — it  was  written  in  the  bond  ;  and 
so  did  the  apothecary  ;  and  probably  two  sensible  young 
lovers  never  before  nor  since  behaved  with  such  abject 
fear  of  each  other — for  a  time.  Later,  and  after  much 
oft-repeated  good  advice  given  to  each  separately  and 
to  both  together,  Honore  Grandissime  persuaded  them 
that  Clotilde  could  make  excellent  use  of  a  portion  of 
her  means  by  re-enforcing  Frowenfeld's  very  slender 
stock  and  well  filling  his  rather  empty-looking  store,  and 
so  they  signed  regular  articles  of  copartnership,  blushing 
frightfully. 

Frowenfeld  became  a  visitor,  Honore  not ;  once  Honor6 
had  seen  the  ladies'  moneys  satisfactorily  invested,  he  kept 
aloof.  It  is  pleasant  here  to  remark  that  neither  Aurora 
nor  Clotilde  made  any  waste  of  their  sudden  acquisitions  ; 
they  furnished  their  rooms  with  much  beauty  at  moder- 


3/8.  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

ate  cost,  and  their  salon  with  artistic,  not  extravagant, 
elegance,  and,  for  the  sake  of  greater  propriety,  em 
ployed  a  decayed  lady  as  housekeeper  ;  but,  being  dis 
creet  in  all  other  directions,  they  agreed  upon  one  bold 
outlay — a  volante. 

Almost  any  afternoon  you  might  have  seen  this 
vehicle  on  the  Terre  aux  Boeuf,  or  Bayou,  or  Tchoupi- 
toulas  Road  ;  and  because  of  the  brilliant  beauty  of  its 
occupants  it  became  known  from  all  other  volantes  as 
the  "  meteor." 

Frowenfeld's  visits  were  not  infrequent;  he  insisted 
on  Clotilde's  knowing  just  what  was  being  done  with  her 
money.  Without  indulging  ourselves  in  the  pleasure 
of  contemplating  his  continued  mental  unfolding,  we 
may  say  that  his  growth  became  more  rapid  in  this 
season  of  universal  expansion  ;  love  had  entered  into 
his  still  compacted  soul  like  a  cupid  into  a  rose,  and  was 
crowding  it  wide  open.  However,  as  yet,  it  had  not 
made  him  brave.  Aurora  used  to  slip  out  of  the  draw 
ing-room,  and  in  some  secluded  nook  of  the  hall  throw 
up  her  clasped  hands  and  go  through  all  the  motions 
of  screaming  merriment. 

"  The  little  fool  !  " — it  was  of  her  own  daughter  she 
whispered  this  complimentary  remark — "  the  little  fool 
is  afraid  of  the  fish  !  " 

"You!"  she  said  to  Clotilde,  one  evening  after  Jo 
seph  had  gone,  "  you  call  yourself  a  Creole  girl  !  " 

But  she  expected  too  much.  Nothing  so  terrorizes  a 
blushing  girl  as  a  blushing  man.  And  then — though 
they  did  sometimes  digress — Clotilde  and  her  partner 
met  to  "  talk  business  "  in  a  purely  literal  sense. 

Aurora,  after  a  time,  had  taken  her  money  into  her 
own  keeping. 


OVER    THE  NEW  STORE.  379 

"  You  mighd  gid  robb'  ag'in,  you  know,  'Sieur  Frow- 
enfel',''  she  said. 

But  when  he  mentioned  Clotilde's  fortune  as  subject 
to  the  same  contingency,  Aurora  replied  : 

"  Ah  !  bud  Clotilde  mighd  gid  robb'  !  " 

But  for  all  the  exuberance  of  Aurora's  spirits,  there 
was  a  cloud  in  her  sky.  Indeed,  we  know  it  is  only 
when  clouds  are  in  the  sky  that  we  get  the  rosiest  tints  ; 
and  so  it  was  with  Aurora.  One  night,  when  she  had 
heard  the  wicket  in  the  porte-cochere  shut  behind  three 
evening  callers,  one  of  whom  she  had  rejected  a  week 
before,  another  of  whom  she  expected  to  dispose  of  simi 
larly,  and  the  last  of  whom  was  Joseph  Frowenfeld,  she 
began  such  a  merry  raillery  at  Clotilde  and  such  a 
hilarious  ridicule  of  the  "  Professor"  that  Clotilde  would 
have  wept  again  had  not  Aurora,  all  at  once,  in  the 
midst  of  a  laugh,  dropped  her  face  in  her  hands  and  run 
from  the  room  in  tears.  It  is  one  of  the  penalties  we 
pay  for  being  joyous,  that  nobody  thinks  us  capable  of 
care  or  the  victim  of  trouble  until,  in  some  moment  of 
extraordinary  expansion,  our  bubble  ©f  gayety  bursts. 
Aurora  had  been  crying  of  nights.  Even  that  same 
night,  Clotilde  awoke,  opened  her  eyes  and  beheld  her 
mother  risen  from  the  pillow  and  sitting  upright  in  the 
bed  beside  her;  the  moon,  shining  brightly  through 
the  bars,  revealed  with  distinctness  her  head  slightly 
drooped,  her  face  again  in  her  hands  and  the  dark  folds 
of  her  hair  falling  about  her  shoulders,  half-concealing 
the  richly  embroidered  bosom  of  her  snowy  gown,  and 
coiling  in  continuous  abundance  about  her  waist  and  on 
the  slight  summer  covering  of  the  bed.  Before  her  on 
the  sheet  lay  a  white  paper.  Clotilde  did  n6t  try  to  de 
cipher  the  writing  on  it ;  she  knew,  at  sight,  the  slip 


380  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

that  had  fallen  from  the  statement  of  account  on  the 
evening  of  the  ninth  of  March.  Aurora  withdrew  her 
hands  from  her  face — Clotilde  shut  her  eyes  ;  she  heard 
Aurora  put  the  paper  in  her  bosom. 

"  Clotilde,"  she  said,  very  softly. 

"  Maman,"  the  daughter  replied,  opening  her  eyes, 
reached  up  her  arms  and  drew  the  dear  head  down. 

"  Clotilde,  once  upon  a  time  I  woke  this  way,  and, 
while  you  were  asleep,  left  the  bed  and  made  a  vow  to 
Monsieur  Danny.  Oh  !  it  was  a  sin  !  But  I  cannot  do 
those  things  now  ;  I  have  been  frightened  ever  since.  I 
shall  never  do  so  any  more.  I  shall  never  commit  an 
other  sin  as  long  as  I  live  ! " 

Their  lips  met  fervently. 

"  My  sweet  sweet,"  whispered  Clotilde,  "you  looked 
so  beautiful  sitting  up  with  the  moonlight  all  around 
you  !  " 

"  Clotilde,  my  beautiful  daughter,"  said  Aurora,  push 
ing  her  bedmate  from  her  and  pretending  to  repress  a 
smile,  "  I  tell  you  now,  because  you  don't  know,  and  it 
is  my  duty  as  your  mother  to  tell  you — the  meanest 
wickedness  a  woman  can  do  in  all  this  bad,  bad  world 
is  to  look  ugly  in  bed  !  " 

Clotilde  answered  nothing,  and  Aurora  dropped  her 
outstretched  arms,  turned  away  with  an  involuntary, 
tremulous  sigh,  and  after  two  or  three  hours  of  patient 
wakefulness,  fell  asleep. 

But  at  daybreak  next  morning,  he  that  wrote  the  pa 
per  had  not  closed  his  eyes. 


CHAPTER   L. 

A   PROPOSAL   OF    MARRIAGE. 

THERE  was  always  some  flutter  among  Frowenfeld's 
employes  when  he  was  asked  for,  and  this  time  it  was 
the  more  pronounced  because  he  was  sought  by  a  house 
maid  from  the  upper  floor.  It  was  hard  for  these  two  or 
three  young  Ariels  to  keep  their  Creole  feet  to  the 
ground  when  it  was  presently  revealed  to  their  sharp 
ears  that  the  "  proffis-or  "  was  requested  to  come  up 
stairs. 

The  new  store  was  an  extremely  neat,  bright,  and 
well-ordered  establishment ;  yet  to  ascend  into  the 
drawing-rooms  seemed  to  the  apothecary  like  going  from 
the  hold  of  one  of  those  smart  old  packet-ships  of  his 
day  into  the  cabin.  Aurora  came  forward,  with  the 
slippers  of  a  Cinderella  twinkling  at  the  edge  of  her 
robe.  It  seemed  unfit  that  the  floor  under  them  should 
not  be  clouds. 

"  Proffis-or  Frowenfel',  good-day  !  Teg  a  cha'."  She 
laughed.  It  was  the  pure  joy  of  existence.  "  You's 
well  ?  You  lookin'  verrie  well !  Halways  bizzie  ?  You 
fine  dad  agriz  wid  you'  healt',  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  ?  Yes  ? 
Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  She  suddenly  leaned  toward  him  across 
the  arm  of  her  chair,  with  an  earnest  face.  "'Sieur 
Frowenfel',  Palmyre  wand  see  you.  You  don'  wan' 
come  ad  'er  'ouse,  eh  ? — an'  you  don'  wan'  her  to  come 


382  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

ad  yo*  bureau.  You  know,  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  she  drez 
the  hair  of  Clotilde  an'  mieself.  So  w'en  she  tell  me 
dad,  I  juz  say,  '  Palmyre,  I  will  sen' for  Proffis-or  Frow 
enfel'  to  come  yeh ;  but  I  don'  thing 'e  comin'.'  You 
know,  I  din"  wan'  you  to  'ave  dad  troub'  ;  but  Clotilde 
— ha,  ha,  ha !  Clotilde  is  sudge  a  foolish — she  nevva 
thing  of  dad  troub'  to  you — she  say  she  thing  you  was 
too  kine-'arted  to  call  dad  troub' — ha,  ha,  ha  !  So  an- 
ny'ow  we  sen'  for  you,  eh  !  " 

Frowenfeld  said  he  was  glad  they  had  done  so,  where 
upon  Aurora  rose  lightly,  saying  : 

"  I  go  an'  sen'  her."  She  started  away,  but  turned 
back  to  add:  "You  know,  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  she  say 
she  cann'  truz  nobody  bud  y'u."  She  ended  with  a  low, 
melodious  laugh,  bending  her  joyous  eyes  upon  the 
apothecary  with  her  head  dropped  to  one  side  in  a  way 
to  move  a  heart  of  flint. 

She  turned  and  passed  through  a  door,  and  by  the 
same  way  Palmyre  entered.  The  philosophe  came  for 
ward  noiselessly  and  with  a  subdued  expression,  differ 
ent  from  any  Frowenfeld  had  ever  before  seen.  At  the 
first  sight  of  her  a  thrill  of  disrelish  ran  through  him  of 
which  he  was  instantly  ashamed  ;  as  she  came  nearer  he 
met  her  with  a  deferential  bow  and  the  silent  tender  of 
a  chair.  She  sat  down,  and,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
handed  him  a  sealed  letter. 

He  turned  it  over  twice,  recognized  the  handwriting, 
felt  the  disrelish  return,  and  said  : 

"  This  is  addressed  to  yourself." 

She  bowed. 

"  Do  you  know  who  wrote  it?  "  he  asked. 

She  bowed  again. 

11  Oui,  Mich*" 


A   PROPOSAL    OF  MARRIAGE.  383 

"  You  wish  me  to  open  it  ?     I  cannot  read  French." 

She  seemed  to  have  some  explanation  to  offer,  but 
could  not  command  the  necessary  English  ;  however, 
with  the  aid  of  Frowenfeld's  limited  guessing  powers, 
she  made  him  understand  that  the  bearer  of  the  letter  to 
her  had  brought  word  from  the  writer  that  it  was  writ 
ten  in  English  purposely  that  M.  Frowenfeld — the  only 
person  he  was  willing  should  see  it — might  read  it. 
Frowenfeld  broke  the  seal  and  ran  his  eye  over  the  writ 
ing,  but  remained  silent. 

The  woman  stirred,  as  if  to  say  "Well?"  But  he 
hesitated. 

"  Palmyre,"  he  suddenly  said,  with  a  slight,  dissuasive 
smile,  "  it  would  be  a  profanation  for  me  to  read  this." 

She  bowed  to  signify  that  she  caught  his  meaning, 
then  raised  her  elbows  with  an  expression  of  dubiety, 
and  said  : 

'"E  hask  you " 

"  Yes,"  murmured  the  apothecary.  He  shook  his 
head  as  if  to  protest  to  himself,  and  read  in  a  low  but 
audible  voice  : 

"  Star  of  my  soul,  I  approach  to  die.  It  is  not  for  me  possible  to  live 
without  Palmyre.  Long  time  have  I  so  done,  but  now,  cut  off  from  to 
see  thee,  by  imprisonment,  as  it  may  be  called,  love  is  starving  to  death. 
Oh,  have  pity  on  the  faithful  heart  which,  since  ten  years,  change  not,  but 
forget  heaven  and  earth  for  you.  Now  in  the  peril  of  the  life,  hidden 
away,  that  absence  from  the  sight  of  you  make  his  seclusion  the  more  worse 
than  death.  Halas  !  I  pine  !  Not  other  ten  years  of  despair  can  I  com 
mence.  Accept  this  love.  If  so  I  will  live  for  you,  but  if  to  the  contraire, 
I  must  die  for  you.  Is  there  anything  at  all  what  I  will  not  give  or  even 
do  if  Palmyre  will  be  my  wife  ?  Ah,  no,  far  otherwise,  there  is  noth- 
ing!" 

Frowenfeld  looked  over  the  top  of  the  letter.  Pal 
myre  sat  with  her  eyes  cast  down,  slowly  shaking  her 


384  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

head.  He  returned  his  glance  to  the  page,  coloring 
somewhat  with  annoyance  at  being  made  a  proposing 
medium. 

"The  English  is  very  faulty  here,"  he  said,  without 
looking  up.  "  He  mentions  Bras-Coupe."  Palmyre 
started  and  turned  toward  him  ;  but  he  went  on  without 
lifting  his  eyes.  "  He  speaks  of  your  old  pride  and  af 
fection  toward  him  as  one  who  with  your  aid  might 
have  been  a  leader  and  deliverer  of  his  people."  Frow- 
enfeld  looked  up.  "  Do  you  under — 

"  Allez,  Michd"  said  she,  leaning  forward,  her  great 
eyes  fixed  on  the  apothecary  and  her  face  full  of  dis 
tress.  "  Mo  comprcnd  bien." 

"  He  asks  you  to  let  him  be  to  you  in  the  place  of 
Bras-Coupe." 

The  eyes  of  the  philosoplic,  probably  for  the  first 
time  since  the  death  of  the  giant,  lost  their  pride.  They 
gazed  upon  Frowenfeld  with  almost  piteousness  ;  but 
she  compressed  her  lips  and  again  slowly  shook  her 
head. 

"You  see,"  said  Frowenfeld,  suddenly  feeling  a  new 
interest,  "  he  understands  their  wants.  He  knows  their 
wrongs.  He  is  acquainted  with  laws  and  men.  He 
could  speak  for  them.  It  would  not  be  insurrection- 
it  would  be  advocacy.  He  would  give  his  time,  his 
pen,  his  speech,  his  means  to  get  them  justice — to  get 
them  their  rights." 

She  hushed  the  over-zealous  advocate  with  a  sad 
and  bitter  smile  and  essayed  to  speak,  studied  as  if  for 
English  words,  and,  suddenly  abandoning  that  at 
tempt,  said,  with  ill-concealed  scorn  and  in  the  Creole 
patois  : 

"  What  is  all  that  ?     What  I  want  is  vengeance  !  " 


A   PROPOSAL    OF  MARRIAGE.  385 

"  I  will  finish  reading,"  said  Frowen(eld,  quickly, 
not  caring  to  understand  the  passionate  speech. 

"  Ah,  Palmyre  !  Palmyre  !  What  you  love  and  hope  to  love  you  be 
cause  his  heart  keep  itself  free,  he  is  loving  another  !  " 

"  Quid  qa,  Michd?" 

Frovvenfeld  was  loth  to  repeat.  She  had  understood, 
as  her  face  showed  ;  but  she  dared  not  believe.  He 
made  it  shorter  : 

"  He  means  that  Honore  Grandissime  loves  another 
woman." 

"  'Tis  a  lie  !  "  she  exclaimed,  a  better  command  of 
English  coming  with  the  momentary  loss  of  restraint. 

The  apothecary  thought  a  moment  and  then  decided 
to  speak. 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  he  quietly  said.     . 

-"  'Ovv  you  know  dat  ?  " 

She,  too,  spoke  quietly,  but  under  a  fearful  strain. 
She  had  thrown  herself  forward,  but,  as  she  spoke, 
forced  herself  back  into  her  seat. 

"He  told  me  so  himself." 

The  tall  figure  of  Palmyre  rose  slowly  and  silently 
from  her  chair,  her  eyes  lifted  up  and  her  lips  moving 
noiselessly.  She  seemed  to  have  lost  all  knowledge  of 
place  or  of  human  presence.  She  walked  down  the 
drawing-room  quite  to  its  curtained  windows  and  there 
stopped,  her  face  turned  away  and  her  hand  laid  with  a 
visible  tension  on  the  back  of  a  chair.  She  remained 
so  long  that  Frowenfeld  had  begun  to  think  of  leav 
ing  her  so,  when  she  turned  and  came  back.  Her  form 
was  erect,  her  step  firm  and  nerved,  her  lips  set  to 
gether  and  her  hands  dropped  easily  at  her  side  ;  but 
when  she  came  close  up  before  the  apothecary  she  was 


386  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

trembling.  For  a  moment  she  seemed  speechless,  and 
then,  while  her  eyes  gleamed  with  passion,  she  said,  in 
a  cold,  clear  tone,  and  in  her  native  patois  : 

"Very  well;  if  I  cannot  love  I  can  have  my  re 
venge."  She  took  the  letter  from  him  and  bowed  her 
thanks,  still  adding,  in  the  same  tongue,  "  There  is  now 
no  longer  anything  to  prevent." 

The  apothecary  understood  the  dark  speech.  She 
meant  that,  with  no  hope  of  Honore's  love,  there  was 
no  restraining  motive  to  withhold  her  from  wreaking 
what  vengeance  she  could  upon  Agricola.  But  he  saw 
the  folly  of  a  debate. 

"  That  is  all  I  can  do  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  Out,  merci,  Mic/iif,"  she  said;  then  she  added,  in 
perfect  English,  "  but  that  is  not  all  /can  do,"  and  then 
— laughed. 

The  apothecary  had  already  turned  to  go,  and  the 
laugh  was  a  low  one  ;  but  it  chilled  his  blood.  He  was 
glad  to  get  back  to  his  employments. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

BUSINESS    CHANGES. 

WE  have  now  recorded  some  of  the  events  which 
characterized  the  five  months  during  which  Doctor 
Keene  had  been  vainly  seeking  to  recover  his  health  in 
the  West  Indies. 

"Is  Mr.  Frowenfeld  in?"  he  asked,  walking  very 
slowly,  and  with  a  cane,  into  the  new  drug-store  on  the 
morning  of  his  return  to  the  city. 

"  If  Professo'  Frowenfel's  in?"  replied  a  young  man 
in  shirt-sleeves,  speaking  rapidly,  slapping  a  paper 
package  which  he  had  just  tied,  and  sliding  it  smartly 
down  the  counter.  "  No,  seh." 

A  quick  step  behind  the  doctor  caused  him  to  turn  ; 
Raoul  was  just  entering,  with  a  bright  look  of  business 
on  his  face,  taking  his  coat  off  as  he  came. 

"  Docta  Keene  !  Tcck  a  chair.  'Ow  you  like  de 
noo  sto'  ?  See  ?  Fo'  counters  !  T'ree  clerk'  !  De 
whole  interieure  paint  undre  mie  h-own  direction  !  If 
dat  is  not  a  beautiful !  eh  ?  Look  at  dat  sign." 

He  pointed  to  some  lettering  in  harmonious  colors 
near  the  ceiling  at  the  farther  end  of  the  house.  The 
doctor  looked  and  read  : 

MANDARIN,  AG'T,  APOTHECARY. 

"  Why  not  Frowenfeld  ?  "  he  asked. 
Raoul  shrugged. 


388  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  Tis  better  dis  way." 

That  was  his  explanation. 

"  Not  the  De  Brahmin  Mandarin  who  was  Honore's 
manager?  " 

"Yes.  Honore  wasn'  able  to  kip  'im  no  long-er. 
Honore  isn'  so  rich  lak  befo'." 

"  And  Mandarin  is  really  in  charge  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  Profess-or  Frowenfel'  all  de  time  at  de 
ole  corner,  w'ere  'e  continue  to  keep  'is  private  room 
and  h-use  de  ole  shop  fo'  ware'ouse.  'E  h-only  come 
yeh  w'en  Mandarin  cann'  git  'long  widout  'im." 

"  What  does  he  do  there  ?     His  not  rich." 

Raoul  bent  down  toward  the  doctor's  chair  and  whis 
pered  the  dark  secret  : 

"  Studyin'  !  " 

Doctor  Keene  went  out. 

Everything  seemed  changed  to  the  returned  wanderer. 
Poor  man  !  The  changes  were  very  slight  save  in  their 
altered  relation  to  him.  To  one  broken  in  health,  and 
still  more  to  one  with  broken  heart,  old  scenes  fall  upon 
the  sight  in  broken  rays.  A  sort  of  vague  alienation 
seemed  to  the  little  doctor  to  come  like  a  film  over  the 
long-familiar  vistas  of  the  town  where  he  had  once 
walked  in  the  vigor  and  complacency  of  strength  and 
distinction.  This  was  not  the  same  New  Orleans.  The 
people  he  met  on  the  street  were  more  or  less  familiar 
to  his  memory,  but  many  that  should  have  recognized 
him  failed  to  do  so,  and  others  were  made  to  notice  him 
rather  by  his  cough  than  by  his  face.  Some  did  not 
know  he  had  been  away.  It  made  him  cross. 

He  had  walked  slowly  down  beyond  the  old  Frowen- 
feld  corner  and  had  just  crossed  the  street  to  avoid  the 
dust  of  a  building  which  was  being  torn  down  to  make 


&C7SINESS   CHANGES.  389 

place  for  a  new  one,  when  he  saw  coming  toward  him, 
unconscious  of  his  proximity,  Joseph  Frowenfeld. 

"Doctor  Keene  !  "  said  Frowenfeld,  with  almost  the 
enthusiam  of  Raoul. 

The  doctor  was  very  much  quieter. 

"Hello,  Joe." 

They  went  back  to  the  new  drug-store,  sat  down  in  a 
pleasant  little  rear  corner  enclosed  by  a  railing  and  cur 
tains,  and  talked. 

"And  did  the  trip  prove  of  no  advantage  to  you  ?  " 

"  You  see.  But  never  mind  me;  tell  me  about  Ho- 
nore  ;  how  does  that  row  with  his  family  progress?  " 

"  It  still  continues  ;  the  most  of  his  people  hold  ideas 
of  justice  and  prerogative  that  run  parallel  with  family 
and  party  lines,  lines  of  caste,  of  custom  and  the  like  ; 
they  have  imparted  their  bad  feeling  against  him  to  the 
community  at  large  ;  very  easy  to  do  just  now,  for  the 
election  for  President  of  the  States  comes  on  in  the  fall, 
and  though  we  in  Louisiana  have  little  or  nothing  to  do 
with  it  ;  the  people  are  feverish." 

"The  country's  chill  day,"  said  Doctor  Keene; 
"  dumb  chill,  hot  fever." 

"  The  excitement  is  intense,"  said  Frowenfeld.  "  It 
seems  we  are  not  to  be  granted  suffrage  yet ;  but  the 
Creoles  have  a  way  of  casting  votes  in  their  mind.  For 
example,  they  have  voted  Honore  Grandissime  a  traitor  ; 
they  have  voted  me  an  encumbrance  ;  I  hear  one  of 
them  casting  that  vote  now." 

Some  one  near  the  front  of  the  store  was  talking  ex 
citedly  with  Raoul : 

"  An' — an' — an'  w'at  are  the  consequence?  The  con 
sequence  are  that  we  smash  his  shop  for  him  an'  'e  'ave 
to  make  a  noo-start  with  a  Creole  partner's  money  an' 


39°  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

put  'is  sto'  in  charge  of  Creole'  !  If  I  know  he  is  yo' 
frien'  ?  Yesseh  !  Valuable  citizen  ?  An'  vv'at  we  care 
for  valuable  citizen  ?  Let  him  be  valuable  if  he  want ; 
it  keep'  him  from  gettin'  the  neck  broke  ;  but — he  mus'- 
tek-kyeh — 'ow — he — talk'  !  He-mus'-tek-kyeh  'o\v  he 
stir  the  'ot  blood  of  Louisyanna  !  " 

"  He  is  perfectly  right,"  said  the  little  doctor,  in  his 
husky  undertone  ;  "  neither  you  nor  Honore  is  a  bit 
sound,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  they  would  hang  you 
both,  yet ;  and  as  for  that  darkey  who  has  had  the  im 
pudence  to  try  to  make  a  commercial  white  gentleman 
of  himself — it  may  not  be  I  that  ought  to  say  it,  but — he 
will  get  his  deserts — sure  !  " 

"  There  are  a  great  many  Americans  that  think  as  you 
do,"  said  Frowenfeld,  quietly. 

"  But,"  said  the  little  doctor,  "what  did  that  fellow 
mean  by  your  Creole  partner  ?  Mandarin  is  in  charge 
of  your  store,  but  he  is  not  your  partner,  is  he?  Have 
you  one  ?  " 

"  A  silent  one,"  said  the  apothecary. 

"  So  silent  as  to  be  none  of  my  business  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Well,  who  is  it,  then?" 

"  It  is  Mademoiselle  Nancanou." 

"  Your  partner  in  business  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  Joseph  Frowenfeld,— 

The  insinuation  conveyed  in  the  doctor's  manner  was 
very  trying,  but  Joseph  merely  reddened. 

"  Purely  business,  I  suppose,"  presently  said  the  doc 
tor,  with  a  ghastly  ironical  smile.  "  Does  the  ar- 
rangem —  '  his  utterance  failed  him — "  does  it  end 
there." 


BUSINESS   CHANGES.  391 

"  It  ends  there." 

"  And  you  don't  see  that  it  ought  either  not  to  have 
begun,  or  else  ought  not  to  have  ended  there  ?  " 

Frowenfeld  blushed  angrily.     The  doctor  asked  : 

"  And  who  takes  care  of  Aurora's  money  ?  " 

."Herself." 

"  Exclusively  ?  " 

They  both  smiled  more  good-naturedly. 

"  Exclusively." 

"  She's  a  coon;"  and  the  little  doctor  rose  up  and 
crawled  away,  ostensibly  to  see  another  friend,  but  really 
to  drag  himself  into  his  bed-chamber  and  lock  himself 
in.  The  next  day — the  yellow  fever  was  bad  again— he 
resumed  the  practice  of  his  profession. 

"  Twill  be  a  sort  of  decent  suicide  without  the  ele 
ment  of  pusillanimity,"  he  thought  to  himself. 


CHAPTER   LII. 

LOVE   LIES   A-BLEEDING. 

WHEN  Honore  Grandissime  heard  that  Doctor  Keene 
had  returned  to  the  city  in  a  very  feeble  state  of  health, 
he  rose  at  once  from  the  desk  where  he  was  sitting  and 
went  to  see  him  ;  but  it  was  on  that  morning  when  the 
doctor  was  sitting  and  talking  with  Joseph,  and  Honore 
found  his  chamber  door  locked.  Doctor  Keene  called 
twice,  within  the  following  two  days,  upon  Honore  at 
his  counting-room ;  but  on  both  occasions  Honore's 
chair  was  empty.  So  it  was  several  days  before  they 
met.  But  one  hot  morning  in  the  latter  part  of  August, 
— the  August  days  were  hotter  before  the  cypress  forest 
was  cut  down  between  the  city  and  the  lake  than  they 
are  now, — as  Doctor  Keene  stood  in  the  middle  of  his 
room  breathing  distressedly  after  a  sad  fit  of  coughing, 
and  looking  toward  one  of  his  windows  whose  closed 
sash  he  longed  to  see  opened,  Honore  knocked  at  the 
door. 

"Well,  come  in!"  said  the  fretful  invalid.  "Why, 
Honore, — well,  it  serves  you  right  for  stopping  to  knock. 
Sit  down." 

Each  took  a  hasty,  scrutinizing  glance  at  the  other ; 
and,  after  a  pause,  Doctor  Keene  said  : 

"  Honore,  you  are  pretty  badly  stove." 

M.  Grandissime  smiled. 


LOVE  LIES  A-BLEEDING.  393 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Docta  ?  I  will  be  mo'  complimen 
tary  to  you  ;  you  might  look  mo'  sick." 

"  Oh,  I  have  resumed  my  trade,"  replied  Doctor 
Keene. 

"  So  I  have  heard  ;  but  Chahlie,  that  is  all  in  favor-h 
of  the  people  who  want  a  skilful  and  advanced  physi 
cian  and  do  not  mind  killing  him  ;  I  should  advise  you 
not  to  do  it." 

"You  mean"  (the  incorrigible  little  doctor  smiled 
cynically)  "  if  I  should  ask  your  advice.  I  am  going  to 
get  well,  Honore." 

His  visitor  shrugged. 

"  So  much  the  betta.  I  do  confess  I  am  tempted  to 
make  use  of  you  in  yo'  official  capacity,  rhight  now.  Do 
you  feel  strhong  enough  to  go  with  me  in  yo'  gig  a  little 
way  ?  " 

"  A  professional  call  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  a  difficult  case  ;  also  a  confidential  one." 

"  Ah  !  confidential !  "  said  the  little  man,  in  his  pain 
ful,  husky  irony.  "  You  want  to  get  me  into  the  sort  of 
scrape  I  got  our  '  professor  '  into,  eh  ?  " 

"  Possibly  a  worse  one,"  replied  the  amiable  Creole. 

"  And  I  must  be  mum,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  would  prhefeh." 

"  Shall  I  need  any  instruments  ?  No  ?  " — with  a  shade 
of  disappointment  on  his  face. 

He  pulled  a  bell-rope  and  ordered  his  gig  to  the  street 
door. 

"  How  are  affairs  about  town  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  made 
some  slight  preparation  for  the  street. 

"  Excitement  continues.  Just  as  I  came  along,  a  prhi- 
vate  difficulty  between  a  Crheole  and  an  Americain  drhew 
instantly  half  the  strheet  togetheh  to  take  sides  strhictly 
17* 


394  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

accawding  to  belongings  and  without  asking  a  question. 
My-de'-seh,  we  ah  having,  as  Frowenfeld  says,  a  war-h 
of  human  acids  and  alkalies." 

They  descended  and  drove  away.  At  the  first  corner 
the  lad  who  drove  turned,  by  Honore's  direction,  toward 
the  rue  Dauphine,  entered  it,  passed  down  it  to  the  rue 
Dumaine,  turned  into  this  toward  the  river  again  and 
entered  the  rue  Conde.  The  route  was  circuitous. 
They  stopped  at  the  carriage-door  of  a  large  brick  house. 
The  wicket  was  opened  by  Clemence.  They  alighted 
without  driving  in. 

"  Hey,  old  witch,"  said  the  doctor,  with  mock  sever 
ity  ;  "  not  hung  yet  ?" 

The  houses  of  any  pretension  to  comfortable  spacious 
ness  in  the  closely  built  parts  of  the  town  were  all  of  the 
one,  general,  Spanish-American  plan.  Honore  led  the 
doctor  through  the  cool,  high,  tesselated  carriage-hall, 
on  one  side  of  which  were  the  drawing-rooms,  closed 
and  darkened.  They  turned  at  the  bottom,  ascended  a 
broad,  iron-railed  staircase  to  the  floor  above,  and  halted 
before  the  open  half  of  a  glazed  double  door  with  a 
clumsy  iron  latch.  It  was  the  entrance  to  two  spacious 
chambers,  which  were  thrown  into  one  by  folded 
doors. 

The  doctor  made  a  low,  indrawn  whistle  and  raised  his 
eyebrows — the  rooms  were  so  sumptuously  furnished  ; 
immovable  largeness  and  heaviness,  lofty  sobriety,  abun 
dance  of  finely  wrought  brass  mounting,  motionless  rich 
ness  of  upholstery,  much  silent  twinkle  of  pendulous 
crystal,  a  soft  semi-obscurity — such  were  the  character 
istics.  The  long  windows  of  the  farther  apartment  could 
be  seen  to  open  over  the  street,  and  the  air  from  behind, 
coming  in  over  a  green  mass  of  fig-trees  that  stood  in 


LOVE  LIES  A-BLEEDING.  395 

the  paved  court  below,  moved  through  the  rooms,  mak 
ing  them  cool  and  cavernous. 

"  You  don't  call  this  a  hiding-place,  do  you — in  his 
own  bed-chamber  ?  "  the  doctor  whispered. 

"  It  is  necessary,  now,  only  to  keep  out  of  sight," 
softly  answered  Honore.  "  Agrhicole  and  some  othehs 
rhansacked  this  house  one  night  last  Mahch — the  day  I 
announced  the  new  firm  ;  but  of  co'se,  then,  he  was  not 
heah." 

They  entered,  and  the  figure  of  Honore  Grandissime, 
f.  m.  c.,  came  into  view  in  the  centre  of  the  farther  room, 
reclining  in  an  attitude  of  extreme  languor  on  a  low 
couch,  whither  he  had  come  from  the  high  bed  near  by, 
as  the  impression  of  his  form  among  its  pillows  showed. 
He  turned  upon  the  two  visitors  his  slow,  melancholy 
eyes,  and,  without  an  attempt  to  rise  or  speak,  indicated, 
by  a  feeble  motion  of  the  hand,  an  invitation  to  be 
seated. 

"  Good-morning,"  said  Doctor  Keene,  selecting  alight 
chair  and  drawing  it  close  to  the  side  of  the  couch. 

The  patient  before  him  was  emaciated.  The  limp  and 
bloodless  hand,  which  had  not  responded  to  the  doc 
tor's  friendly  pressure  but  sank  idly  back  upon  the  edge 
of  the  couch,  was  cool  and  moist,  and  its  nails  slightly 
blue. 

"  Lie  still,"  said  the  doctor,  reassuringly,  as  the  ren 
tier  began  to  lift  the  one  knee  and  slippered  foot  which 
was  drawn  up  on  the  couch  and  the  hand  which  hung  out 
of  sight  across  a  large,  linen-covered  cushion. 

By  pleasant  talk  that  seemed  all  chat,  the  physician 
soon  acquainted  himself  with  the  case  before  him.  It 
was  a  very  plain  one.  By  and  by  he  rubbed  his  face  and 
red  curls  and  suddenly  said  : 


396  THE   GRANDISSIMES. 

"  You  will  not  take  my  prescription." 

The  f.  m.  c.  did  not  say  yes  or  no. 

"  Still," — the  doctor  turned  sidevvise  in  his  chair,  as 
was  his  wont,  and,  as  he  spoke,  allowed  the  corners  of 
hjs  mouth  to  take  that  little  satirical  downward  pull 
which  his  friends  disliked, — "  I'll  do  my  duty.  I'll  give 
Honore  the  details  as  to  diet;  no  physic ;  but  my  pre 
scription  to  you  is,  Get  up  and  get  out.  Never  mind 
the  risk  of  rough  handling;  they  can  but  kill  you,  and 
you  will  die  anyhow  if  you  stay  here."  He  rose. 
"  I'll  send  you  a  chalybeate  tonic  ;  or — I  will  leave  it 
at  Frowenfeld's  to-morrow  morning,  and  you  can  call 
there  and  get  it.  It  will  give  you  an  object  for  going 
out." 

The  two  visitors  presently  said  adieu  and  retired  to 
gether.  Reaching  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  in  the  car 
riage  "  corridor,"  they  turned  in  a  direction  opposite  to 
the  entrance  and  took  chairs  in  a  cool  nook  of  the  paved 
courtj  at  a  small  table  where  the  hospitality  of  Clemence 
had  placed  glasses  of  lemonade. 

"  No,"  said  the  doctor,  as  they  sat  down,  "  there  is, 
as  yet,  no  incurable  organic  derangement ;  a  little  heart 
trouble  easily  removed  ;  still  your — your  patient — 

"  My  half-brother,"  said  Honored 

"  Your  patient,"  said  Doctor  Kcene,  "is  an  emphatic 
'  yes '  to  the  question  the  girls  sometimes  ask  us  doc 
tors — '  Does  love  ever  kill  ? '  It  will  kill  him  soon,  if 
you  do  not  get  him  to  rouse  up.  There  is  absolutely 
nothing  the  matter  with  him  but  his  unrequited  love." 

"  Fawtunately,  the  most  of  us,"  said  Honore,  with 
something  of  the  doctor's  smile,  "do  not  love  hahd 
enough  to  be  killed  by  it." 

"  Very  few."     The  doctor  paused,  and  his  blue  eyes, 


LOVE  LIES  A-BLEEDING.  397 

distended  in  reverie,  gazed  upon  the  glass  which  he  was 
slowly  turning  around  with  his  attenuated  ringers  as  it 
stood  on  the  board,  while  he  added  :  "  However,  one 
may  love  as  hopelessly  and  harder  than  that  man  up 
stairs,  and  yet  not  die." 

"  There-h  is  comfo't  in  that — to  those  who  must  live," 
said  Honore,  with  gentle  gravity. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  still  toying  with  his  glass. 

He  slowly  lifted  his  glance,  and  the  eyes  of  the  two 
men  met  and  remained  steadfastly  fixed  each  upon 
each. 

"You've  got  it  bad,"  said  Doctor  Keene,  mechani 
cally. 

"  And  you  ?  "  retorted  the  Creole. 

"  It  isn't  going  to  kill  me." 

"  It  has  not  killed  me.  And,"  added  M.  Grandissime, 
as  they  passed  through  the  carriage-way  toward  the 
street,  "  while  I  keep  in  mind  the  numbe'less  otheh  sor 
rows  of  life,  the  burhials  of  wives  and  sons  and  daugh- 
tehs,  the  agonies  and  desolations,  I  shall  nevvah  die  of 
love,  my-de'-seh,  fo'  verhy  shame's  sake." 

This  was  much  sentiment  to  risk  within  Doctor  Keene's 
reach  ;  but  he  took  no  advantage  of  it. 

"  Honore,"  said  he,  as  they  joined  hands  on  the  ban 
quette  beside  the  doctor's  gig,  to  say  good-day,  "if  you 
think  there's  a  chance  for  you,  why  stickle  upon  such 
fine-drawn  points  as  I  reckon  you  are  making  ?  Why 
sir,  as  I  understand  it,  this  is  the  only  weak  spot  your 
action  has  shown  ;  you  have  taken  an  inoculation  of 
Quixotic  conscience  from  our  transcendental  apothecary 
and  perpetrated  a  lot  of  heroic  behavior  that  would  have 
done  honor  to  four-and-twenty  Brutuses  ;  and  now  that 
you  have  a  chance  to  do  something  easy  and  human,  you 


THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

shiver  and  shrink  at  the  ' looks  o'  the  thing.'  Why, 
what  do  you  care — 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Honor6  ;  "  do  you  suppose  I  have  not 
temptation  enough  alrheady  ?  " 

He  began  to  move  away. 

"  Honore,"  said  the  doctor,  following  him  a  step,  "  I 
couldn't  have  made  a  mistake — it's  the  little  Monk,— it's 
Aurora,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Honore  nodded,  then  faced  his  friend  more  directly, 
with  a  sudden  new  thought. 

"  But,  Doctah,  why  not  take  your-h  own  advice  ?  I 
know  not  how  you  ah  prhevented  ;  you  have  as  good  a 
rhight  as  Frhowenfeld." 

"It  wouldn't  be  honest,"  said  the  doctor;  "it 
wouldn't  be  the  straight  up  and  down  manly  thing." 

"Why  not?  " 

The  doctor  stepped  into  his  gig 

"  Not  till  I  feel  all  right  here"     (In  his  chest.) 


CHAPTER   LIII. 

FROWENFELD   AT   THE   GRANDISSIME   MANSION. 

ONE  afternoon — it  seems  to  have  been  some  time  in 
June,  and  consequently  earlier  than  Doctor  Keene's  re 
turn — the  Grandissimes  were  set  all  a-tremble  with  vex 
ation  by  the  discovery  that  another  of  their  number  had, 
to  use  Agricola's  expression,  "gone  over  to  the  enemy," 
— a  phrase  first  applied  by  him  to  Honore. 

"What  do  you  intend  to  convey  by  that  term?" 
Frowenfeld  had  asked  on  that  earlier  occasion. 

"  Gone  over  to  the  enemy  means,  my  son,  gone  over 
to  the  enemy  !  "  replied  Agricola.  "  It  implies  affilia 
tion  with  Americains  in  matters  of  business  and  of  gov 
ernment  !  It  implies  the  exchange  of  social  amenities 
with  a  race  of  upstarts  !  It  implies  a  craven  consent  to 
submit  the  sacredest  prejudices  of  our  fathers  to  the 
new-fangled  measuring-rods  of  pert,  imported  theories 
upon  moral  and  political  progress  !  It  implies  a  listen 
ing  to,  and  reasoning  with,  the  condemners  of  some  of 
our  most  time-honored  and  respectable  practices  !  Rea 
soning  with  ?  N-a-hay  !  but  Honore  has  positively  sat 
down  and  eaten  with  them  !  What  ? — and  h- walked  out 
into  the  stre-heet  with  them,  arm  in  arm  !  It  implies  in 
his  case  an  act— two  separate  and  distinct  acts — so  base 
that — that — I  simply  do  not  understand  them  !  H-you 
know,  Professor  Frowenfeld,  what  he  has  done  !  You 


4OO  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

know  how  ignominiously  he  has  surrendered  the  key  of 
a  moral  position  which  for  the  honor  of  the  Grandissime- 
Fusilier  name  we  have  felt  it  necessary  to  hold  against 
our  hereditary  enemies  !  And — you — know —  '  here 
Agricola  actually  dropped  all  artificiality  and  spoke  from 
the  depths  of  his  feelings,  without  figure — "  h-h-he  has 
joined  himself  in  business  h-with  a  man  of  negro  blood  ! 
What  can  we  do  ?  What  can  we  say  ?  It  is  Honore 
Grandissime.  We  can  only  say,  '  Farewell !  He  is  gone 
over  to  the  enemy.'  ' 

The  new  cause  of  exasperation  was  the  defection  of 
Raoul  Innerarity.  Raoul  had,  somewhat  from  a  dis 
tance,  contemplated  such  part  as  he  could  understand 
of  Joseph  Frowenfeld's  character  with  ever-broadening 
admiration.  We  know  how  devoted  he  became  to  the 
interests  and  fame  of  "  Frowenfeld's."  It  was  in  April 
he  had  married.  Not  to  divide  his  generous  heart  he 
took  rooms  opposite  the  drug-store,  resolved  that 
"  Frowenfeld's  "  should  be  not  only  the  latest  closed  but 
the  earliest  opened  of  all  the  pharmacies  in  New  Orleans. 

This,  it  is  true,  was  allowable.  Not  many  weeks  af 
terward  his  bride  fell  suddenly  and  seriously  ill.  The 
overflowing  souls  of  Aurora  and  Clotilde  could  not  be 
so  near  to  trouble  and  not  know  it,  and  before  Raoul 
was  nearly  enough  recovered  from  the  shock  of  this 
peril  to  remember  that  he  was  a  Grandissime,  these  last 
two  of  the  De  Grapions  had  hastened  across  the  street 
to  the  small,  white-walled  sick-room  and  filled  it  as  full 
of  universal  human  love  as  the  cup  of  a  magnolia  is  full 
of  perfume.  Madame  Innerarity  recovered.  A  warm 
affection  was  all  she  and  her  husband  could  pay  such 
ministration  in,  and  this  they  paid  bountifully;  the  four 
became  friends.  The  little  madame  found  herself  drawn 


FROWENFELD  AT  THE  GRANDISSIME  MANSION.    4° I 

most  toward  Clotilde  ;  to  her  she  opened  her  heart — and 
her  wardrobe,  and  showed  her  all  her  beautiful  new 
under-clothing.  Clotilde,  Raoul  found  to  be,  for  him, 
rather — what  shall  we  say  ? — starry,  starrily  inaccessible  ; 
but  Aurora  was  emphatically  after  his  liking  ;  he  was 
delighted  with  Aurora.  He  told  her  in  confidence  that 
"  Profess-or  Frowenfel'  "  was  the  best  man  in  the  world  ; 
but  she  boldly  said,  taking  pains  to  speak  with  a  tear 
and  a  half  of  genuine  gratitude, — "  Egcep'  Monsieur 
Honore  Grandissime, "  and  he  assented,  at  first  with 
hesitation  and  then  with  ardor.  The  four  formed  a 
group  of  their  own  ;  and  it  is  not  certain  that  this  was 
not  the  very  first  specimen  ever  produced  in  the  Cres 
cent  City  of  that  social  variety  of  New  Orleans  life  now 
distinguished  as  Uptown  Creoles. 

Almost  the  first  thing  acquired  by  Raoul  in  the  camp 
of  the  enemy  was  a  certain  Aurorean  audacity  ;  and  on 
the  afternoon  to  which  we  allude,  having  told  Frowen- 
feld  a  rousing  fib  to  the  effect  that  the  multitudinous  in 
mates  of  the  maternal  Grandissime  mansion  had  insisted 
on  his  bringing  his  esteemed  employer  to  see  them,  he 
and  his  bride  had  the  hardihood  to  present  him  on  the 
front  veranda. 

The  straightforward  Frowenfeld  was  much  pleased 
with  his  reception.  It  was  not  possible  for  such  as  he  to 
guess  the  ire  with  which  his  presence  was  secretly  re 
garded.  New  Orleans,  let  us  say  once  more,  was  small, 
and  the  apothecary  of  the  rue  Royale  locally  famed  ; 
and  what  with  curiosity  and  that  innate  politeness  which 
it  is  the  Creole's  boast  that  he  cannot  mortify,  the 
veranda,  about  the  top  of  the  great  front  stair,  was  well 
crowded  with  people  of  both  sexes  and  all  ages.  It 
would  be  most  pleasant  to  tarry  once  more  in  descrip- 


402  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

tion  of  this  gathering  of  nobility  and  beauty  ;  to  recount 
the  points  of  Creole  loveliness  in  midsummer  dress  ;  to 
tell  in  particular  of  one  and  another  eye-kindling  face, 
form,  manner,  wit ;  to  define  the  subtle  qualities  of  Cre 
ole  air  and  sky  and  scene,  or  the  yet  more  delicate 
graces  that  characterize  the  music  of  Creole  voice  and 
speech  and  the  light  of  Creole  eyes  ;  to  set  forth  the 
gracious,  unaccentuated  dignity  of  the  matrons  and  the 
ravishing  archness  of  their  daughters.  To  Frowenfeld 
the  experience  seemed  all  unreal.  Nor  was  this  unreal 
ity  removed  by  conversation  on  grave  subjects  ;  for  few 
among  either  the  maturer  or  the  younger  beauty  could 
do  aught  but  listen  to  his  foreign  tongue  like  unearthly 
strangers  in  the  old  fairy  tales.  They  came,  however, 
in  the  course  of  their  talk  to  the  subject  of  love  and  mar 
riage.  It  is  not  certain  that  they  entered  deeper  into 
the  great  question  than  a  comparison  of  its  attendant 
Anglo-American  and  Franco-American  conventionali 
ties  ;  but  sure  it  is  that  somehow — let  those  young  souls 
divine  the  method  who  can — every  unearthly  stranger 
on  that  veranda  contrived  to  understand  Frowenfeld's 
English.  Suddenly  the  conversation  began  to  move 
over  the  ground  of  inter-marriage  between  hostile  fami 
lies.  Then  what  eyes  and  ears  !  A  certain  suspicion  had 
already  found  lodgement  in  the  universal  Grandissime 
breast,  and  every  one  knew  in  a  moment  that,  to  all  in 
tents  and  purposes,  they  were  about  to  argue  the  case  of 
Honore  and  Aurora. 

The  conversation  became  discussion,  Frowenfeld,  Raoul 
and  Raoul's  little  seraph  against  the  whole  host,  chariots, 
horse  and  archery.  Ah  !  such  strokes  as  the  apothecary 
dealt!  And  if  Raoul  and  "Madame  Raoul"  played 
parts  most  closely  resembling  the  blowing  of  horns  and 


FROWENFELD  AT  THE  GRANDISSIME  MANSION.    4O3 

breaking  of  pitchers,  still  they  bore  themselves  gallantly. 
The  engagement  was  short ;  we  need  not  say  that  no 
body  surrendered  ;  nobody  ever  gives  up  the  ship  in 
parlor  or  veranda  debate  ;•  and  yet — as  is  generally  the 
case  in  such  affairs — truth  and  justice  made  some  un 
acknowledged  headway.  If  anybody  on  either  side 
came  out  wounded — this  to  the  credit  of  the  Creoles  as 
a  people — the  sufferer  had  the  heroic  good  manners  not 
to  say  so.  But  the  results  were  more  marked  than  this  ; 
indeed,  in  more  than  one  or  two  candid  young  hearts 
and  impressible  minds  the  wrongs  and  rights  of  sovereign 
true  love  began  there  on  the  spot  to  be  more  generously 
conceded  and  allowed.  "  My-de'-seh,"  Honore  had 
once  on  a  time  said  to  Frowenfeld,  meaning  that  to  pre 
vail  in  conversational  debate  one  should  never  follow 
up  a  faltering  opponent,  "  you  mus'  crJiack  the  egg,  not 
smash  it !  "  And  Joseph,  on  rising  to  take  his  leave, 
could  the  more  amiably  overlook  the  feebleness  of  the 
invitation  to  call  again,  since  he  rejoiced,  for  Honore's 
sake,  in  the  conviction  that  the  egg  was  cracked. 

Agricola,  the  Grandissimes  told  the  apothecary,  was 
ill  in  his  room,  and  Madame  de  Grandissime,  his  sister 
— Honore's  mother — begged  to  be  excused  that  she 
might  keep  him  company.  The  Fusiliers  were  a  very 
close  order ;  or  one  might  say  they  garrisoned  the 
citadel. 

But  Joseph's  rising  to  go  was  not  immediately  upon 
the  close  of  the  discussion  ;  those  courtly  people  would 
not  let  even  an  unwelcome  guest  go  with  the  faintest 
feeling,  of  disrelish  for  them.  They  were  casting  about 
in  their  minds  for  some  momentary  diversion  with  which 
to  add  a  finishing  touch  to  their  guest's  entertainment, 
when  Clemence  appeared  in  the  front  garden-walk  and 


404  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

was  quickly  surrounded  by  bounding  children,  alternately 
begging  and  demanding  a  song.  Many  of  even  the 
younger  adults  remembered  well  when  she  had  been 
"  one  of  the  hands  on  the  place,"  and  a  passionate  lover 
of  the  African  dance.  In  the  same  instant  half  a  dozen 
voices  proposed  that  for  Joseph's  amusement  Clemence 
should  put  her  cakes  ofF  her  head,  come  up  on  the 
veranda  and  show  a  few  of  her  best  steps. 

"  But  who  will  sing  ?  " 

"Raoul  !" 

"  Very  well ;  and  what  shall  it  be  ?  " 

"  '  Madame  Gaba.'  ' 

No,  Clemence  objected. 

"  Well,  well,  stand  back — something  better  than 
'  Madame  Gaba.'  " 

Raoul  began  to  sing  and  Clemence  instantly  to  pace 
and  turn,  posture,  bow,  respond  to  the  song,  start, 
swing,  straighten,  stamp,  wheel,  lift  her  hand,  stoop, 
twist,  walk,  whirl,  tip-toe  with  crossed  ankles,  smite 
her  palms,  march,  circle,  leap — an  endless  improvisation 
of  rhythmic  motion  to  this  modulated  responsive  chant : 

RAOUL.     "  Mo  pas  Faimein  f<z." 

CLEMKNCE.     " Miche  Igenne,  oap !  oap!  cap!" 

HE.      "  Ye  domic,  vingt  cinq  sous  pou''  manze poiile." 

SHE.      "  Miche  Igenne,  dit—dit—dit " 

HE.      "  Mo  pas  I  'aimein  fa  !  " 

SHE.     "  Miche  Igenne,  oap  !  oap  !  oap  !  " 

HE.     "  Mo  pas  Faimein  ca  !  " 

SHE.      "  Miche,  Igenne,  oap  !  oap  !  oap  !  " 

Frowenfeld  was  not  so  greatly  amused  as  the  ladies 
thought  he  should  have  been,  and  was  told  that  this  was 
not  a  fair  indication  of  what  he  would  see  if  there  were 
ten  dancers  instead  of  one. 


FROWENFELD  AT  THE  GRANDISSIME  MANSION.    4O5 

How  much  less  was  it  an  indication  of  what  he  would 
have  seen  in  that  mansion  early  the  next  morning,  when 
there  was  found  just  outside  of  Agricola's  bedroom  door 
a  fresh  egg,  not  cracked,  according  to  Honore's  maxim, 
but  smashed,  according  to  the  lore  of  the  voudous. 
Who  could  have  got  in  in  the  night  ?  And  did  the  in 
truder  get  in  by  magic,  by  outside  lock-picking,  or  by 
inside  collusion  ?  Later  in  the  morning,  the  children 
playing  in  the  basement  found — it  had  evidently  been 
accidentally  dropped,  since  the  true  use  of  its  contents 
required  them  to  be  scattered  in  some  person's  path — a 
small  cloth  bag,  containing  a  quantity  of  dogs'  and  cats' 
hair,  cut  fine  and  mixed  with  salt  and  pepper. 

"  Clemence  ?  " 

"Pooh!  Clemence.  No!  But  as  sure  as  the  sun 
turns  around  the  world — Palmyre  Philosophe  !  " 


CHAPTER   LIV. 

"CAULDRON   BUBBLE." 

THE  excitement  and  alarm  produced  by  the  practical 
threat  of  voudou  curses  upon  Agricola  was  one  thing, 
Creole  lethargy  was  quite  another  ;  and  when,  three 
mornings  later,  a  full  quartette  of  voudou  charms  was 
found  in  the  four  corners  of  Agricola's  pillow,  the  great 
Grandissime  family  were  ignorant  of  how  they  could 
have  come  there.  Let  us  examine  these  terrible  engines 
of  mischief.  In  one  corner  was  an  acorn  drilled  through 
with  two  holes  at  right  angles  to  each  other,  a  small 
feather  run  through  each  hole  ;  in  the  second  a  joint  of 
cornstalk  with  a  cavity  scooped  from  the  middle,  the 
pith  left  intact  at  the  ends,  and  the  space  filled  with 
parings  from  that  small  callous  spot  near  the  knee  of  the 
horse,  called  the  "  nail  "  ;  in  the  third  corner  a  bunch 
of  parti-colored  feathers  ;  something  equally  meaning 
less  in  the  fourth.  No  thread  was  used  in  any  of  them. 
All  fastening  was  done  with  the  gum  of  trees.  It  was 
no  easy  task  for  his  kindred  to  prevent  Agricola,  beside 
himself  with  rage  and  fright,  from  going  straight  to 
Palmyra's  house  and  shooting  her  down  in  open  day. 

"  We  shall  have  to  watch  our  house  by  night,"  said  a 
gentleman  of  the  household,  when  they  had  at  length 
restored  the  Citizen  to  a  condition  of  mind  which  en 
abled  them  to  hold  him  in  a  chair. 


'•'•CAULDRON  BUBBLE."  4O/ 

"  Watch  this  house  ?  "  cried  a  chorus.  "  You  don't 
suppose  she  comes  near  here,  do  you  ?  She  does  it  all 
from  a  distance.  No,  no  ;  watch  her  house." 

"  Did  Agricola  believe  in  the  supernatural  potency  of 
these  gimcracks  ?  No,  and  yes.  Not  to  be  foolhardy, 
he  quietly  slipped  down  every  day  to  the  levee,  had  a 
slave-boy  row  him  across  the  river  in  a  skiff,  landed, 
re-embarked,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  stream  surrepti 
tiously  cast  a  picayune  over  his  shoulder  into  the  river. 
Monsieur  D'Embarras,  the  imp  of  death  thus  placated, 
must  have  been  a  sort  of  spiritual  Cheap  John. 

Several  more  nights  passed.  The  house  of  Palmyre, 
closely  watched,  revealed  nothing.  No  one  came  out, 
no  one  went  in,  no  light  was  seen.  They  should  have 
watched  it  in  broad  daylight.  At  last,  one  midnight, 
'Polyte  Grandissime  stepped  cautiously  up  to  one  of  the 
batten  doors  with  an  auger,  and  succeeded,  without 
arousing  any  one,  in  boring  a  hole.  He  discovered  a 
lighted  candle  standing  in  a  glass  of  water. 

"  Nothing  but  a  bedroom  light,"  said  one. 

"Ah,  bah!"  whispered  the  other;  "it  is  to  make 
the  spell  work  strong." 

"  We  will  not  tell  Agricola  first;  we  had  better  tell 
Honore,"  said  Sylvestre. 

"You  forget,"  said  'Polyte,  "that  I  no  longer  have 
any  acquaintance  with  Monsieur  Honore  Grandissime." 

They  told  Agamemnon  ;  and  it  would  have  gone  hard 
with  the  "  milatraise"  but  for  the  additional  fact  that 
suspicion  had  fastened  upon  another  person  ;  but  now 
this  person  in  turn  had  to  be  identified.  It  was  decided 
not  to  report  progress  to  old  Agricola,  but  to  await  and 
seek  further  developments.  Agricola,  having  lost  all  abil 
ity  to  sleep  in  the  mansion,  moved  into  a  small  cottage 


408  THE    GRAND1SSIMES. 

in  a  grove  near  the  house.  But  the  very  next  morning, 
he  turned  cold  with  horror  to  find  on  his  door-step  a 
small  black-coffined  doll,  with  pins  run  through  the  heart, 
a  burned-out  candle  at  the  head  and  another  at  the  feet. 

"  You  know  it  is  Palmyre,  do  you  ?  "  asked  Agamem 
non,  seizing  the  old  man  as  he  was  going  at  a  headlong 
pace  through  the  garden  gate.  "  What  if  I  should  tell 
you  that,  by  watching  the  Congo  dancing-ground  at  mid 
night  to-night,  you  will  see  the  real  author  of  this  mis 
chief—eh  ?  " 

"And  why  to-night?  " 

"  Because  the  moon  rises  at  midnight." 

There  was  firing  that  night  in  the  deserted  Congo 
dancing-grounds  under  the  ruins  of  Fort  St.  Joseph,  or, 
as  we  would  say  now,  in  Congo  Square,  from  three 
pistols — Agricola's,  Tolyte's,  and  the  weapon  of  an  ill- 
defined,  retreating  figure  answering  the  description  of 
the  person  who  had  stabbed  Agricola  the  preceding  Feb 
ruary.  "  And  yet,"  said  Tolyte,  "  I  would  have  sworn 
that  it  was  Palmyre  doing  this  work." 

Through  Raoul  these  events  came  to  the  ear  of  Frow- 
enfeld.  It  was  about  the  time  that  Raoul's  fishing- 
party,  after  a  few  days'  mishaps,  had  returned  home. 
Palmyre,  on  several  later  dates,  had  craved  further 
audiences  and  shown  other  letters  from  the  hidden 
f.  m.  c.  She  had  heard  them  calmly,  and  steadfastly 
preserved  the  one  attitude  of  refusal.  But  it  could  not 
escape  Frowenfeld's  notice  that  she  encouraged  the 
sending  of  additional  letters.  He  easily  guessed  the 
courier  to  be  Clemence  ;  and  now,  as  he  came  to  ponder 
these  revelations  of  Raoul,  he  found  that  within  twenty- 
four  hours  after  every  visit  of  Clemence  to  the  house  of 
Palmyre,  Agricola  suffered  a  visitation. 


CHAPTER   LV. 

CAUGHT. 

THE  fig-tree,  in  Louisiana,  sheds  its  'leaves  while  it 
is  yet  summer.  In  the  rear  of  the  Grandissime  mansion, 
about  two  hundred  yards  north-west  of  it  and  fifty  north 
east  of  the  cottage  in  which  Agricola  had  made  his  new 
abode,  on  the  edge  of  the  grove  of  which  we,  have 
spoken,  stood  one  of  these  trees,  whose  leaves  were  be 
ginning  to  lie  thickly  upon  the  ground  beneath  it.  An 
ancient  and  luxuriant  hedge  of  Cherokee  rose  started 
from  this  tree  and  stretched  toward  the  north-west  across 
the  level  country,  until  it  merged  into  the  green  confu 
sion  of  gardened  homes  in  the  vicinity  of  Bayou  St. 
Jean,  or,  by  night,  into  the  common  obscurity  of  a  star 
lit  perspective.  When  an  unclouded  moon  shone  upon 
it,  it  cast  a  shadow  as  black  as  velvet. 

Under  this  fig-tree,  some  three  hours  later  than  that 
at  which  Honore  bade  Joseph  good-night,  a  man  was 
stooping  down  and  covering  something  with  the  broad, 
fallen  leaves. 

"  The  moon  will  rise  about  three  o'clock,"  thought 
he.  "  That,  the  hour  of  universal  slumber,  will  be,  by 
all  odds,  the  thing  most  likely  to  bring  developments." 

He  was  the  same  person  who  had  spent  the  most  of 
the  day  in  a  blacksmith  shop  in  St.  Louis  street,  super 
intending  a  piece  of  smithing.  Now  that  he  seemed  to 
18 


41 0  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

have  got  the  thing  well  hid,  he  turned  to  the  base  of 
the  tree  and  tried  the  security  of  some  attachment. 
Yes,  it  was  firmly  chained.  He  was  not  a  robber ;  he 
was  not  an  assassin  ;  he  was  not  an  officer  of  police  ;  and 
what  is  more  notable,  seeing  he  was  a  Louisianian,  he 
was  not  a  soldier  nor  even  an  ex-soldier ;  and  this  al 
though,  under  his  clothing,  he  was  encased  from  head 
to  foot  in  a  complete  suit  of  mail.  Of  steel  ?  No.  Of 
brass  ?  No.  It  was  all  one  piece — a  white  skin  ;  and 
on  his  head  he  wore  an  invisible  helmet — the  name  of 
Grandissime.  As  he  straightened  up  and  withdrew  into 
the  grove,  you  would  have  recognized  at  once — by  his 
thick-set,  powerful  frame,  clothed  seemingly  in  black, 
but  really,  as  you  might  guess,  in  blue  cottonade,  by 
his  black  beard  and  the  general  look  of  a  seafarer — a 
frequent  visitor  at  the  Grandissime  mansion,  a  country 
member  of  that  great  family,  one  whom  we  saw  at  the 
fete  de  gran  dp  ere. 

Capitain  Jean-Baptiste  Grandissime  was  a  man  of  few 
words,  no  sentiments,  short  methods  ;  materialistic,  we 
might  say  ;  quietly  ferocious  ;  indifferent  as  to  means, 
positive  as  to  ends,  quick  of  perception,  sure  in  mat 
ters  of  saltpetre,  a  stranger  at  the  custom-house,  and 
altogether — take  him  right — very  much  of  a  gentleman. 
He  had  been,  for  a  whole  day,  beset  with  the  idea  that 
the  way  to  catch  a  voudou  was — to  catch  him  ;  and  as  he 
had  caught  numbers  of  them  on  both  sides  of  the  trop 
ical  and  semitropical  Atlantic,  he  decided  to  try  his  skill 
privately  on  the  one  who — his  experience  told  him — was 
likely  to  visit  Agricola's  door-step  to-night.  All  things 
being  now  prepared,  he  sat  down  at  the  root  of  a  tree 
in  the  grove,  where  the  shadow  was  very  dark,  and 
seemed  quite  comfortable.  He  did  not  strike  at  the 


CAUGHT. 

mosquitoes  ;  they  appeared  to  understand  that  he  did 
not  wish  to  trifle.  Neither  did  his  thoughts  or  feelings 
trouble  him ;  he  sat  and  sharpened  a  small  pen-knife  on 
his  boot. 

His  mind — his  occasional  transient  meditation — was 
the  more  comfortable  because  he  was  one  of  those  few 
who  had  coolly  and  unsentimentally  allowed  Honore 
Grandissime  to  sell  their  lands.  It  continued  to  grow 
plainer  every  day  that  the  grants  with  which  theirs  were 
classed — grants  of  old  French  or  Spanish  under-officials 
— were  bad.  Their  sagacious  cousin  seemed  to  have 
struck  the  right  standard,  and  while  those  titles  which 
he  still  held  on  to  remained  unimpeached,  those  that  he 
had  parted  with  to  purchasers — as,  for  instance,  the 
grant  held  by  this  Capitain  Jean-Baptiste  Grandissime — 
could  be  bought  back  now  for  half  what  he  had  got  for 
it.  Certainly,  as  to  that,  the  Capitain  might  well  have 
that  quietude  of  mind  which  enabled  him  to  find  occu 
pation  in  perfecting  the  edge  of  his  penknife  and  trim 
ming  his  nails  in  the  dark. 

By  and  by  he  put  up  the  little  tool  and  sat  looking 
out  upon  the  prospect.  The  time  of  greatest  probabil 
ity  had  not  come,  but  the  voudou  might  choose  not  to 
wait  for  that ;  and  so  he  kept  a  watch.  There  was  a 
great  stillness.  The  cocks  had  finished  a  round  and 
were  silent.  No  dog  barked.  A  few  tiny  crickets  made 
the  quiet  land  seem  the  more  deserted.  Its  beauties 
were  not  entirely  overlooked — the  innumerable  host  of 
stars  above,  the  twinkle  of  myriad  fire-flies  on  the  dark 
earth  below.  Between  a  quarter  and  a  half  mile  away, 
almost  in  a  line  with  the  Cherokee  hedge,  was  a  faint 
rise  of  ground,  and  on  it  a  wide-spreading  live-oak. 
There  the  keen,  seaman's  eye  of  the  Capitain  came  to  a 


412  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

stop,  fixed  upon  a  spot  which  he  had  not  noticed  before. 
He  kept  his  eye  on  it,  and  waited  for  the  stronger  light 
of  the  moon. 

Presently  behind  the  grove  at  his  back  she  rose  ;  and 
almost  the  first  beam  that  passed  over  the  tops  of  the 
trees,  and  stretched  across  the  plain,  struck  the  object 
of  his  scrutiny.  What  was  it?  The  ground,  he  knew  ; 
the  tree,  he  knew  ;  he  knew  there  ought  to  be  a  white 
paling  enclosure  about  the  trunk  of  the  tree  ;  for  there 
were  buried — ah  ! — he  came  as  near  laughing  at  himself 
as  ever  he  did  in  his  life  ;  the  apothecary  of  the  rue 
Royale  had  lately  erected  some  marble  head-stones 
there,  and— 

"Oh  !  my  God!" 

While  Capitain  Jean-Baptiste  had  been  trying  to  guess 
what  the  tombstones  were,  a  woman  had  been  coming 
toward  him  in  shadow  of  the  hedge.  She  was  not  ex 
pecting  to  meet  him  ;  she  did  not  know  that  he  was 
there  ;  she  knew  she  had  risks  to  run,  but  was  ignorant 
of  what  they  were  ;  she  did  not  know  there  was  any 
thing  under  the  fig-tree  which  she  so  nearly  and  noise 
lessly  approached.  One  moment  her  foot  was  lifted 
above  the  spot  where  the  unknown  object  lay  with  wide- 
stretched  jaws  under  the  leaves,  and  the  next,  she  uttered 
that  cry  of  agony  and  consternation  which  interrupted 
the  watcher's  meditation.  She  was  caught  in  a  huge 
steel-trap. 

Capitain  Jean-Baptiste  Grandissime  remained  perfect 
ly  still.  She  fell,  a  snarling,  struggling,  groaning  heap, 
to  the  ground,  wild  with  pain  and  fright,  and  began  the 
hopeless  effort  to  draw  the  jaws  of  the  trap  apart  with 
her  fingers. 

"  Alt  !  bon  Dicit,  bon  Dicu  !     Quit  ^-bi-i-i-i-tin   me! 


CAUGHT.  413 

Oh  !  Lawd  'a'  mussy  !  Ow-ow-ow  !  lemme  go  !  Dey 
go'n'  to  kyetch  an'  hang  me  !  Oh  !  an'  I  hain'  done 
nuttin'  'gainst  nobody  I  Ah  !  bon  Dieu  !  ein  pov'  vie' 
ncgresse !  Oh  !  Jemimy  !  I  cyan'  gid  dis  yeh  t'ing 
loose — oh!  m-m-m-m  !  An'  dey'll  tra  to  mek  out  't  I 
voudou'  Mich-Agricole  !  An'  I  didn'  had  nutt'n'  do 
wid  it !  Oh  Lawd,  oh,  Laivd,  you'll  be  mighty  good  ef 
you  lemme  loose  !  I'm  a  po'  nigga  !  Oh !  dey  hadn' 
ought  to  mek  it  so  poivlvh  \  " 

Hands,  teeth,  the  free  foot,  the  writhing  body,  every 
combination  of  available  forces  failed  to  spread  the 
savage  jaws,  though  she  strove  until  hands  and  mouth 
were  bleeding. 

Suddenly  she  became  silent ;  a  thought  of  precaution 
came  to  her ;  she  lifted  from  the  earth  a  burden  she  had 
dropped  there,  struggled  to  a  half-standing  posture,  and, 
with  her  foot  still  in  the  trap,  was  endeavoring  to  ap 
proach  the  end  of  the  hedge  near  by,  to  thrust  this  bur 
den  under  it,  when  she  opened  her  throat  in  a  speech 
less  ecstasy  of  fright  on  feeling  her  arm  grasped  by  her 
captor. 

"  O-o-o-h !  Lawd!  o-o-oh  !  Lawd!"  she  cried,  in  a 
frantic,  husky  whisper,  going  down  upon  her  knees, 
"  0/1,  Miclid  !  pou  Vamoii  du  bon  Dicu  !  Pou  I'amou'  du 
bon  Dicu  ayez  pitie1  d'ein  pov'  ncgresse  !  Pov'  ncgresse, 
Mic/id,  w'at  nevva  done  nutt'n'  to  nobody  on'y  jis  sell 
calas  /  I  iss  comin'  'long  an'  step  inteh  dis-yeh  bah-trap 
by  accident  !  Ah  !  Micke,  Mic/ic,  ple-e-ease  be  good  ! 
Ak  !  mon  Dieu  ! — an'  de  Lawd  '11  reward  you — 'deed  'E 
will,  Michd!" 

"Quiciga?"  asked  the  Capitain,  sternly,  stooping 
and  grasping  her  burden,  which  she  had  been  trying  to 
conceal  under  herself. 


414  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  Oh,  Miche,  don'  trouble  dat !  Please  jes  tek  dis- 
yeh  trap  offen  me — da's  all !  Oh,  don't,  mawstah, 
ple-e-ease  don'  spill  all  my  wash'n  t'ings  !  'Taint  nutt'n 
but  my  old  dress  roll'  up  into  a  ball.  Oh,  please — now, 
you  see  ?  nutt'n'  but  a  po'  nigga's  dr — oh  !  fo\  de  love  o' 
God,  Michd  Jean-Baptiste,  don  open  dat  ah  box  !  Yen 
a  rein  du  tout  la-dans,  Miche  Jean-Baptiste  ;  du  tout,  du 
tout !  Oh,  my  God  !  Miche,  on'y  jis  teck  dis-yeh  t'ing 
offn  my  laig,  ef  yo  please,  it's  bit'n  me  lak  a  dawg  ! — if 
you  please,  Miche  !  Oh  !  you  git  kill'  if  you  open  dat 
ah  box,  Mavvse  Jean-Baptiste !  Mo1  parole  dJionncur 
le plus  sacrd — I'll  kiss  de  cross  !  Oh,  sivcet  Miclid  Jean, 
laisse  moiallcr  !  Nutt'n  but  some  dutty  close  la-dans." 
She  repeated  this  again  and  again,  even  after  Capitain 
Jean-Baptiste  had  disengaged  a  small  black  coffin  from 
the  old  dress  in  which  it  was  wrapped.  "  Ricn  du  toutt 
Miche  ;  nutt'n'  but  some  wash'n'  fo'  one  o'  de  boys." 

He  removed  the  lid  and  saw  within,  resting  on  the 
cushioned  bottom,  the  image,  in  myrtle-wax,  moulded 
and  painted  with  some  rude  skill,  of  a  negro's  bloody 
arm  cut  off  near  the  shoulder — a  bras-coupd — with  a  dirk 
grasped  in  its  hand. 

The  old  woman  lifted  her  eyes  to  heaven  ;  her  teeth 
chattered  ;  she  gasped  twice  before  she  could  recover 
utterance.  "  Oh,  Miche'  Jean  Baptiste,  I  di'n'  mek  dat 
ah  !  Mo  td  pas  fd  $a  !  I  swea'  befo'  God  !  Oh,  no,  no, 
no  !  'Tain'  nutt'n'  nohow  but  a  lill  play-toy,  Miche. 
Oh,  sweet  Michd  Jean,  you.  not  gwan  to  kill  me?  I 
di'n'  mek  it !  It  was — ef  you  lemme  go,  I  tell  you  who 
mek  it!  Sho's  I  live  I  tell  you,  Michd  Jean — efyou 
lemme  go  !  Sho's  God's  good  to  me — cf  you  lemme 
go  !  Oh,  God  A'mighty,  Michd  Jean,  sho's  -God's  good 
to  me." 


CAUGHT.  415 

She  was  becoming  incoherent. 

Then  Capitain  Jean-Baptiste  Grandissime  for  the  first 
time  spoke  at  length  : 

"  Do  you  see  this  ?  "  he  spoke  the  French  of  the  At- 
chafalaya.  .  He  put  his  long  flint-lock  pistol  close  to  her 
face.  "I  shall  take  the  trap  off;  you  will  walk. three 
feet  in  front  of  me  ;  if  you  make  it  four  I  blow  your 
brains  out ;  we  shall  go  to  Agricole.  But  right  here, 
just  now,  before  I  count  ten,  you  will  tell  me  who  sent 
you  here  ;  at  the  word  ten,  if  I  reach  it,  I  pull  the  trigger. 
One — two — three " 

"  Oh,  Micke,  she  gwan  to  gib  me  to  de  devil  wid  hou- 
dou  ef  I  tell  you — Oh,  good  Laivdy  !  " 

But  he  did  not  pause. 

"  Four — five — six — seven — eight " 

"  Palmyre  !  "  gasped  the  negress,  and  grovelled  on  the 
ground. 

The  trap  was  loosened  from  her  bleeding  leg,  the  bur 
den  placed  in  her  arms,  and  they  disappeared  in  the 
direction  of  the  mansion. 

A  black  shape,  a  boy,  the  lad  who  had  carried  the 
basil  to  Frowenfeld,  rose  up  from  where  he  had  all  this 
time  lain,  close  against  the  hedge,  and  glided  off  down 
its  black  shadow  to  warn  the  philosophe. 

When  Clemence  was  searched,  there  was  found  on  her 
person  an  old  table-knife  with  its  end  ground  to  a  point. 


CHAPTER   LVI. 

BLOOD   FOR  A   BLOW. 

IT  seems  to  be  one  of  the  self-punitive  characteristics  of 
tyranny,  whether  the  tyrant  be  a  man,  a  community,  or 
a  caste,  to  have  a  pusillanimous  fear  of  its  victim.  It 
was  not  when  Clemence  lay  in  irons,  it  is  barely  now, 
that  our  South  is  casting  off  a  certain  apprehensive  tre 
mor,  generally  latent,  but  at  the  slightest  provocation 
active,  and  now  and  then  violent,  concerning  her 
"blacks."  This  fear,  like  others  similar  elsewhere  in 
the  world,  has  always  been  met  by  the  same  one  anti 
dote — terrific  cruelty  to  the  tyrant's  victim.  So  we  shall 
presently  see  the  Grandissime  ladies,  deeming  themselves 
compassionate,  urging  their  kinsmen  to  "give  the  poor 
wretch  a  sound  whipping  and  let  her  go."  Ah  !  what 
atrocities  are  we  unconsciously  perpetrating  North  and 
South  now,  in  the  name  of  mercy  or  defence,  which  the 
advancing  light  of  progressive  thought  will  presently 
show  out  in  their  enormity  ? 

Agricola  slept  late.  He  had  gone  to  his  room  the 
evening  before  much  incensed  at  the  presumption  of 
some  younger  Grandissimes  who  had  brought  up  the 
subject,  and  spoken  in  defence  of,  their  cousin  Honore. 
He  had  retired,  however,  not  to  rest,  but  to  construct 
an  engine  of  offensive  warfare  which  would  revenge  him 
a  hundred-fold  upon  the  miserable  school  of  imported 


BLOOD  FOR  A   BLOW.  4*7 

thought  which  had  sent  its  revolting  influences  to  the 
very  Grandissime  hearth-stone  ;  he  wrote  a  "  Phillipique 
General?,  contre  la  Condnite  du  Gouvernement  de  la 
Louisiane"  and  a  short  but  vigorous  chapter  in  English 
on  the  "Insanity  of  Educating  the  Masses."  This  ac 
complished,  he  had  gone  to  bed  in  a  condition  of  peace 
ful  elation,  eager  for  the  next  day  to  come  that  he  might 
take  these  mighty  productions  to  Joseph  Frowenfeld,  and 
make  him  a  present  of  them  for  insertion  in  his  book  of 
tables. 

Jean-Baptiste  felt  no  need  of  his  advice,  that  he  should 
rouse  him  ;  and,  for  a  long  time  before  the  old  man 
awoke,  his  younger  kinsmen  were  stirring  about  unwont- 
edly,  going  and  coming  through  the  hall  of  the  mansion, 
along  its  verandas  and  up  and  down  its  outer  flight  of 
stairs.  Gates  were  opening  and  shutting,  errands  were 
being  carried  by  negro  boys  on  bareback  horses,  Char 
lie  Mandarin  of  St.  Bernard  parish  and  an  Armand  Fusi 
lier  from  Faubourg  Ste.  Marie  had  on  some  account 
come — as  they  told  the  ladies — "to  take  breakfast"; 
and  the  ladies,  not  yet  informed,  amusedly  wondering 
at  all  this  trampling  and  stage  whispering,  were  up  a 
trifle  early.  In  those  days  Creole  society  was  a  ship,  in 
which  the  fair  sex  were  all  passengers  and  the  ruder  sex 
the  crew.  The  ladies  of  the  Grandissime  mansion  this 
morning  asked  passengers'  questions,  got  sailors'  an 
swers,  retorted  wittily  and  more  or  less  satirically,  and 
laughed  often,  feeling  their  constrained  insignificance. 
However,  in  a  house  so  full  of  bright-eyed  children,  with 
mothers  and  sisters  of  all  ages  as  their  confederates,  the 
secret  was  soon  out,  and  before  Agricola  had  left  his 
little  cottage  in  the  grove  the  topic  of  all  tongues  was 
the  abysmal  treachery  and  ingratitude  of  negro  slaves. 
18* 


41 8  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

The  whole  tribe  of  Grandissime  believed,  this  morning, 
in  the  doctrine  of  total  depravity — of  the  negro. 

And  right  in  the  face  of  this  belief,  the  ladies  put  forth 
the  generously  intentioned  prayer  for  mercy.  They 
were  answered  that  they  little  knew  what  frightful  perils 
they  were  thus  inviting  upon  themselves. 

The  male  Grandissimes  were  not  surprised  at  this  ex 
hibition  of  weak  clemency  in  their  lovely  women  ;  they 
were  proud  of  it  ;  it  showed  the  magnanimity  that  was 
natural  to  the  universal  Grandissime  heart,  when  not  re 
strained  and  repressed  by  the  stern  necessities  of  the 
hour.  But  Agricola  disappointed  them.  Why  should 
he  weaken  and  hesitate,  and  suggest  delays  and  middle 
courses,  and  stammer  over  their  proposed  measures  as. 
"extreme"?  In  very  truth,  it  seemed  as  though  that 
drivelling,  woman-beaten  Deutsch  apotheke — ha  !  ha  ! 
ha  ! — in  the  rue  Royale  had  bewitched  Agricola  as  well 
as  Honore.  The  fact  was,  Agricola  had  never  got  over 
the  interview  which  had  saved  Sylvestre  his  life. 

"  Here,  Agricole,"  his  kinsmen  at  length  said,  "  you 
see  you  are  too  old  for  this  sort  of  thing  ;  besides,  it 
would  be  bad  taste  for  you,  who  might  be  presumed  to 
harbor  feelings  of  revenge,  to  have  a  voice  in  this  coun 
cil."  And  then  they  added  to  one  another  :  "  We  will 
wait  until  Tolyte  reports  whether  or  not  they  have 
caught  Palmyre  ;  much  will  depend  on  that." 

Agricola,  thus  ruled  out,  did  a  thing  he  did  not  fully 
understand;  he  rolled  up  the  "  Philippique  Generate" 
and  the  "  Insanity  of  Educating  the  Masses,"  and,  with 
these  in  one  hand  and  his  staff  in  the  other,  set  out  for 
Frowenfeld's,  not  merely  smarting  but  trembling  under 
the  humiliation  of  having  been  sent,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  to  the  rear  as  a  non-combatant. 


BLOOD  FOR  A   BLOW.  4*9 

He  found  the  apothecary  among  his  clerks,  preparing 
with  his  own  hands  the  "  chalybeate  tonic  "  for  which 
the  f.  m.  c.  was  expected  to  call.  Raoul  Innerarity 
stood  at  his  elbow,  looking  on  with  an  amiable  air  of 
having  been  superseded  for  the  moment  by  his  mas 
ter. 

"  Ha-ah  !     Professor  Frowenfeld  !  " 

The  old  man  flourished  his  scroll. 

Frowenfeld  said  good-morning,  and  they  shook  hands 
across  the  counter;  but  the  old  man's  grasp  was  so 
tremulous  that  the  apothecary  looked  at  him  again. 

"  Does  my  hand  tremble,  Joseph  ?  It  is  not  strange  ; 
I  have  had  much  to  excite  me  this  morning." 

"  Wat's  de  mattah  ?  "  demanded  Raoul,  quickly. 

"My  life — which  I  admit,  Professor  Frowenfeld,  is 
of  little  value  compared  with  such  a  one  as  yours — has 
been — if  not  attempted,  at  least  threatened." 

"  How  ?  "  cried  Raoul. 

"  H-really,  Professor,  we  must  agree  that  a  trifle  like 
that  ought  not  to  make  old  Agricola  Fusilier  nervous. 
But  I  find  it  painful,  sir,  very  painful.  I  can  lift  up  this 
right  hand,  Joseph,  and  swear  I  never  gave  a  slave — 
man  or  woman — a  blow  in  my  life  but  according  to  my 
notion  of  justice.  And  now  to  find  my  life  attempted  by 
former  slaves  of  my  own  household,  and  taunted  with 
the  righteous  hamstringing  of  a  dangerous  runaway  ? 
But  they  have  apprehended  the  miscreants  ;  one  is  act 
ually  in  hand,  and  justice  will  take  its  course  ;  trust  the 
Grandissimes  for  that — though,  really,  Joseph,  I  assure 
you,  I  counselled  leniency." 

"  Do  you  say  they  have  caught  her  ?  "  Frowenfeld's 
question  was  sudden  and  excited  ;  but  the  next  moment 
he  had  controlled  himself. 


420  THE    GRANDISS1MES. 

"  H-h-my  son,  I  did  not  say  it  was  a  '  her  '  !  " 

"  Was  it  not  Clemence  ?     Have  they  caught  her  ?  " 

"H-yes " 

The  apothecary  turned  to  Raoul. 

"  Go  tell  Honore  Grandissime." 

"But,  Professor  Frowenfeld ,"  began  Agri- 
cola. 

Frovvenfeld  turned  to  repeat  his  instruction,  but  Raoul 
was  already  leaving  the  store. 

Agricola  straightened  up  angrily. 

"  Pro-hofessor  Frowenfeld,  by  what  right  do  you  in 
terfere  ?  " 

"  No  matter,"  said  the  apothecary,  turning  half-way 
and  pouring  the  tonic  into  a  vial. 

"Sir,"  thundered  the  old  lion,  "  h-I  demand  of  you 
to  answer  !  How  dare  you  insinuate  that  my  kinsmen 
may  deal  otherwise  than  justly  ?  " 

"  Will  they  treat  her  exactly  as  if  she  were  white,  and 
had  threatened  the  life  of  a  slave?"  asked  Frowenfeld 
from  behind  the  desk  at  the  end  of  the  counter. 

The  old  man  concentrated  all  the  indignation  of  his 
nature  in  the  reply. 

"  No-ho,  sir  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  a  shadow  approaching  from  the  door 
caused  him  to  turn.  The  tall,  dark,  finely  clad  form  of 
the  f.  m.  c.,  in  its  old  soft-stepping  dignity  and  its  sad 
emaciation,  came  silently  toward  the  spot  where  he 
stood. 

Frowenfeld  saw  this,  and  hurried  forward  inside  the 
counter  with  the  preparation  in  his  hand. 

"  Professor  Frowenfeld,"  said  Agricola,  pointing  with 
his  ugly  staff,  '•  I  demand  of  you,  as  the  keeper  of  a 
white  man's  pharmacy,  to  turn  that  negro  out." 


BLOOD  FOR  A   BLOW.  421 

"Citizen  Fusilier!"  explained  the  apothecary; 
"  Mister  Grandis " 

He  felt  as  though  no  price  would  be  too  dear  at  that 
moment  to  pay  for  the  presence  of  the  other  Honore. 
He  had  to  go  clear  to  the  end  of  the  counter  and  come 
down  the  outside  again  to  reach  the  two  men.  They 
did  not  wait  for  him.  Agricola  turned  upon  the 
f.  m.  c. 

"Take  off  your  hat !  " 

A  sudden  activity  seized  every  one  connected  with 
the  establishment  as  the  quadroon  let  his  thin  right  hand 
slowly  into  his  bosom,  and  answered  in  French,  in  his 
soft,  low  voice  : 

"  I  wear  my  hat  on  rrvy  head." 

Frowenfeld  was  hurrying  toward  them  ;  others  stepped 
forward,  and  from  two  or  three  there  came  half- uttered 
exclamations  of  protest ;  but  unfortunately  nothing  had 
been  done  or  said  to  provoke  any  one  to  rush  upon 
them,  when  Agricola  suddenly  advanced  a  step  and  struck 
the  f.  m.  c.  on  the  head  with  his  staff.  Then  the  general 
outcry  and  forward  rush  came  too  late  ;  the  two  crashed 
together  and  fell,  Agricola  above,  the  f.  m.  c.  below,  and 
a  long  knife  lifted  up  from  underneath  and  sinking  to 
its  hilt,  once — twice — thrice, — in  the  old  man's  back. 

The  two  men  rose,  one  in  the  arms  of  his  friends,  the 
other  upon  his  own  feet.  While  every  one's  attention 
was  directed  toward  the  wounded  man,  his  antagonist 
restored  his  dagger  to  its  sheath,  took  up  his  hat  and 
walked  away  unmolested.  When  Frowenfeld,  with  Agri- 
cola  still  in  his  arms,  looked  around  for  the  quadroon,  he 
was  gone. 

Doctor  Keenc,  sent  for  instantly,  was  soon  at  Agri- 
cola's  side. 


422  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  Take  him  upstairs  ;  he  can't  be  moved  any  further." 
Frovvenfeld  turned  and  began  to  instruct  some  one  to 

run    upstairs  and  ask  permission,  but  the  little  doctor 

stopped  him. 

"  Joe,  for  shame  !  you  don't  know  those  women  better 

than  that  ?     Take  the  old  man  right  up  !  " 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

VOUDOU   CURED. 

• 

"  HONORE,"  said  Agricola,  faintly,  "  where  is  Hon- 
ore  !  " 

"  He  has  been  sent  for,"  said  Doctor  Keene  and  the 
two  ladies  in  a  breath. 

Raoul,  bearing  the  word  concerning  Clemence,  and 
the  later  messenger  summoning  him  to  Agricola's  bed 
side,  reached  Honore  within  a  minute  of  each  other. 
His  instructions  were  quickly  given,  for  Raoul  to  take  his 
horse  and  ride  down  to  the  family  mansion,  to  break 
gently  to  his  mother  the  news  of  Agricola's  disaster,  and 
to  say  to  his  kinsmen  with  imperative  emphasis,  not  to 
touch  the  marchande  des  calas  till  he  should  come. 
Then  he  hurried  to  the  rue  Royale. 

But  when  Raoul  arrived  at  the  mansion  he  saw  at  a 
glance  that  the  news  had  outrun  him.  The  family  car 
riage  was  already  coming  round  the  bottom  of  the  front 
stairs  for  three  Mesdames  Grandissime  and  Madame 
Martinez.  The  children  on  all  sides  had  dropped  their 
play,  and  stood  about,  hushed  and  staring,  The  ser 
vants  moved  with  quiet  rapidity.  In  the  hall  he  was 
stopped  by  two  beautiful  girls. 

"  Raoul !  Oh,  Raoul,  how  is  he  now?  Oh  !  Raoul, 
if  you  could  only  stop  them  !  They  have  taken  old 
Clemence  down  into  the  swamp — as  soon  as  they  heard 


424  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

about  Agricole — Oh,  Raoul,  surely  that  would  be  cruel  ! 
She  nursed  me — and  me — when  we  were  babies  !  " 

"  Where  is  Agamemnon  ?  " 

"  Gone  to  the  city." 

"  What  did  he  say  about  it  ?  " 

"  He  said  they  were  doing  wrong,  that  he  did  not 
approve  their  action,  and  that  they  would  get  themselves 
into  trouble  :  that  he  washed  his  hands  of  it." 

"Ah-h-h*!"  exclaimed  Raoul,  "wash  his  'hands ! 
Oh,  yes,  wash  his  hands  !  Suppose  we  all  wash  our 
hands  ?  But  where  is  Valentine  ?  Where  is  Charlie 
Mandarin  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  Valentine  is  gone  with  Agamemnon,  saying  the 
same  thing,  and  Charlie  Mandarin  is  down  in  the  swamp 
the  worst  of  all  of  them  !  " 

"  But  why  did  you  let  Agamemnon  and  Valentine  go 
off  that  way,  you  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  listen  to  Raoul  !     What  can  a  woman  do  ?  " 

"  What  can  a  woman — Well,  even  if  I  was  a  woman, 
I  would  do  something  !  " 

He  hurried  from  the  house,  leaped  into  the  saddle  and 
galloped  across  the  fields  toward  the  forest. 

Some  rods  within  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  which,  at 
this  season,  was  quite  dry  in  many  places,  on  a  spot 
where  the  fallen  dead  bodies  of  trees  overlay  one  an 
other  and  a  dense  growth  of  willows  and  vines  and 
dwarf  palmetto  shut  out  the  light  of  the  open  fields,  the 
younger  and  some  of  the  harsher  senior  members  of  the 
Grandissime  family  were  sitting  or  standing  about,  in  an 
irregular  circle  whose  centre  was  a  big  and  singularly 
misshapen  water-willow.  At  the  base  of  this  tree  sat 
Clcmencc,  motionless  and  silent,  a  wan,  sickly  color  in 


VOUDOU   CURED.  42$ 

her  face,  and  that  vacant  look  in  her  large,  white-balled, 
brown-veined  eyes,  with  which  hope-forsaken  cowardice 
waits  for  death.  Somewhat  apart  from  the  rest,  on  an 
old  cypress  stump,  half-stood,  half-sat,  in  whispered 
consultation,  Jean-Baptiste  Grandissime  and  Charlie 
Mandarin. 

"  EJi  bien,  old  woman,"  said  Mandarin,  turning,  with 
out  rising,  and  speaking  sharply  in  the  negro  French, 
"  have  you  any  reason  to  give  why  you  should  not  be 
hung  to  that  limb  over  your  head  ?  " 

She  lifted  her  eyes  slowly  to  his,  and  made  a  feeble 
gesture  of  deprecation. 

"  Mo  te  pas  fc  cette  bras,  Mawse  Challie — I  di'n't  mek 
dat  ahm  ;  no  'ndeed  I  di'n',  Mawse  Challie.  I  am'  wuth 
hangin',  gen'lemen  ;  you'd  oughteh  jis'  gimme  fawty 
an'  lemme  go.  I — I — I — I  di'n'  'ten'  no  hawm  to  Maws- 
Agricole  ;  I  wa'n't  gwan  to  hu't  nobody  in  God's  worl' ; 
'ndeed  I  wasn'.  I  done  tote  dat  old  case-knife  fo'  twen 
ty  year' — mo  po'te  qa  dipi  vingt  ans.  I'm  a  po'  ole  mar- 
cJiande  des  calas ;  vio  courri  'mongs'  de  sojer  boys  to 
sell  my  cakes,  you  know,  and  da's  de  onyest  reason  why 
I  cyah  dat  ah  ole  fool  knife."  She  seemed  to  take  some 
hope  from  the  silence  with  which  they  heard  her.  Her 
eye  brightened  and  her  voice  took  a  tone  of  excitement. 
44  You'd  oughteh  tek  me  and  put  me  in  calaboose,  an' 
let  de  law  tek  'is  co'se.  You's  all  nice  gen'lemen — • 
werry  nice  gen'lemen,  an'  you  sorter  owes  it  to  yo'sev's 
fo'  to  not  do  no  sich  nasty  wuck  as  hangin'  a  po'  ole 
nigga  wench  ;  'deed  you  does.  'Tain'  no  use  to  hang 
me  ;  you  gwan  to  kyetch  Palmyre  yit ;  li  courri  dans 
marais  ;  she  is  in  de  swamp  yeh,  sum'ers  ;  but  as  con- 
cernin'  me,  you'd  oughteh  jis  gimme  fawty  an'  lemme 
go.  You  mus'n'  b'lieve  all  dis-yeh  nonsense  'bout  in- 


426  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

surrectionin'  ;  all  fool-nigga  talk.  Wat  we  want  to  be 
insurrectionin'  faw  ?  We  de  Happies'  people  in  de  God's 
worT  !  "  She  gave  a  start,  and  cast  a  furtive  glance  of 
alarm  behind  her.  "  Yes,  we  is;  you  jis'  oughteh  gim 
me  fawty  an'  lemme  go  !  Please,  gen'lemen  !  God'll 
be  good  to  you,  you  nice,  sweet  gen'lemen  !  " 

Charlie  Mandarin  made  a  sign  to  one  who  stood  at  her 
back,  who  responded  by  dropping  a  rawhide  noose  over 
her  head.  She  bounded  up  with  a  cry  of  terror ;  it 
maybe  that  she  had  all  along  hoped  that  all  was  make- 
believe.  She  caught  the  noose  wildly  with  both  hands 
and  tried  to  lift  it  over  her  head. 

"Ah  !  no,  mawsteh,  you  cyan'  do  dat !  It's  ag'in'  de 
law  !  I's  'bleeged  to  have  my  trial,  yit.  Oh,  no,  no  ! 
Oh,  good  God,  no  !  Even  if  I  is  a  nigga  !  You  cyan' 
jis'  murdeh  me  hyeh  in  de  woods  !  Mo  dis  la  zize  !  I 
tell  de  judge  on  you  !  You  ain'  got  no  mo'  biznis  to  do 
me  so  'an  if  I  was  a  white  'oman  !  You  dassent  tek  a 
white  'oman  out'n  de  Pa'sh  Pris'n  an'  do  'er  so  !  Oh, 
sweet  mawsteh,  fo'  de  love  o'  God  !  Oh,  Mawse  Challie, 
POII  ramoii  du  ban  Dicu  lift!  pas  (a  /  Oh,  Mawse 
Tolyte,  is  you  gwan  to  let  'em  kill  ole  Clemence?  Oh, 
fo'  de  mussy  o'  Jesus  Christ,  Mawse  Tolyte,  leas'  of  all, 
yon  /  You  dassent  help  to  kill  me,  Mawse  Tolyte  ! 
You  knows  why !  Oh  God,  Mawse  Tolyte,  you  knows 
why  !  Leas'  of  all  you,  Mawse  Tolyte  !  Oh,  God  'a' 
mussy  on  my  wicked  olc  soul !  I  aint  fitt'n  to  die  !  Oh, 
gen'lemen,  I  kyan'  look  God  in  de  face  !  Oh,  Michds, 
ayez  pitti  dc  moin  /  Oh,  God  A' mighty  ha'  mussy  on  my 
soul!  Oh,  gen'lemen,  dough  yo'  kinfolks  kyvaeh  up 
yo'  tricks  now,  dey'll  dwap  f'um  undeh  you  some  day  ! 
Sold  levt*  la,  licoucht  la  /  Yo'  t'un  will  come  !  Oh,  God 
A'mighty !  de  God  o'  de  po'  nigga  wench !  Look 


VOUDOU  CURED.  42? 

down,  oh  God,  look  down  an'  stop  dis-yeh  foolishness  ! 
Oh,  God,  fo'  de  love  o*  Jesus  !  Oh,  Michc's,  y'en  a  ein 
zizement !  Oh,  yes,  deh's  a  judgmen'  day!  Den  it 
wont  be  a  bit  o'  use  to  you  to  be  white  !  Oh,  oh,  oh, 
oh,  oh,  oh,  fo',  fo',  fo',  de,  de,  love  6*  God !  Oh  !  " 

They  drew  her  up. 

Raoul  was  not  far  off.  He  heard  the  woman's  last 
cry,  and  came  threshing  through  the  bushes  on  foot. 
He  saw  Sylvestre,  unconscious  of  any  approach,  spring 
forward,  jerk  away  the  hands  that  had  drawn  the  thong 
over  the  branch,  let  the  strangling  woman  down  and 
loosen  the  noose.  Her  eyes,  starting  out  with  hor 
ror,  turned  to  him  ;  she  fell  on  her  knees  and  clasped 
her  hands.  The  tears  were  rolling  down  Sylvestre's 
face. 

"  My  friends,  we  must  not  do  this  !  You  shall  not 
do  it !  " 

He  hurled  away,  with  twice  his  natural  strength,  one 
who  put  out  a  hand. 

"No,  sirs!"  cried  Raoul,  "you  shall  not  do  it !  I 
come  from  Honore  !  Touch  her  who  dares  !  " 

He  drew  a  weapon. 

"Monsieur  Innerarity,"  said  Tolyte,  "who  is  Mon 
sieur  Honore  Grandissime  ?  There  are  two  of  the 
name,  you  know, — partners — brothers.  Which  of — but 
it  makes  no  difference ;  before  either  of  them  sees  this 
assassin  she  is  going  to  be  a  lump  of  nothing  !  " 

The  next  word  astonished  every  one.  It  was  Charlie 
Mandarin  who  spoke. 

"Let  her  go  !" 

"  Let  her  go  !  "  said  Jean-Baptiste  Grandissime  ; 
"  give  her  a  run  for  life.  Old  woman  rise  up.  We  pro 
pose  to  let  you  go.  Can  you  run  ?  Never  mind,  we 


428  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

shall  see.  Achille,  put  her  upon  her  feet.  Now,  old 
woman,  run  ! " 

She  walked  rapidly,  but  with  unsteady  feet,  toward 
the  fields. 

"  Run  !  If  you  don't  run  I  will  shoot  you  this  min 
ute  !  " 

She  ran. 

"  Faster!" 

She  ran  faster. 

"Run!" 

"Run!" 

"  Run,  Clemence  !  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  It  was  so  funny  to 
see  her  scuttling  and  tripping  and  stumbling.  "  Courri  ! 
courri,  Clemence!  cestpou'  to  vie  f  ha,  ha,  ha 

A  pistol-shot  rang  out  close  behind  Raoul's  ear ;  it 
was  never  told  who  fired  it.  The  negress  leaped  into  the 
air  and  fell  at  full  length  to  the  ground,  stone  dead. 


CHAPTER   LVIII. 

DYING   WORDS. 

DRIVERS  of  vehicles  in  the  rue  Royale  turned  aside 
before  two  slight  barriers  spanning  the  way,  one  at  the 
corner  below,  the  other  at  that  above,  the  house  where 
the  aged  high-priest  of  a  doomed  civilization  lay  bleed 
ing  to  death.  The  floor  of  the  store  below,  the  pave 
ment  of  the  corridor  where  stood  the  idle  volante,  were 
covered  with  straw,  and  servants  came  and  went  by  the 
beckoning  of  the  hand. 

"  This  way,"  whispered  a  guide  of  the  four  ladies  from 
the  Grandissime  mansion.  As  Honore's  mother  turned 
the  angle  half-way  up  the  muffled  stair,  she  saw  at  the 
landing  above,  standing  as  if  about  to  part,  yet  in  grave 
council,  a  man  and  woman,  the  fairest — she  noted  it  even 
in  this  moment  of  extreme  distress — she  had  ever  looked 
upon.  He  had  already  set  one  foot  down  upon  the  stair, 
but  at  sight  of  the  ascending  group  drew  back  and  said  : 

"  It  is  my  mother;  "  then  turned  to  his  mother  and 
took  her  hand  ;  they  had  been  for  months  estranged, 
but  now  they  silently  kissed. 

"  He  is  sleeping,"  said  Honore.  "  Maman,  Madame 
Nancanou." 

The  ladies  bowed — the  one  looking  very  large  and 
splendid,  the  other  very  sweet  and  small.  There  was  a 
single  instant  of  silence,  and  Aurora  burst  into  tears. 


43O  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

For  a  moment  Madame  Grandissime  assumed  a  frown 
that  was  almost  a  reminder  of  her  brother's,  and  then 
the  very  pride  of  the  Fusiliers  broke  down.  She  uttered 
an  inaudible  exclamation,  drew  the  weeper  firmly  into 
her  bosom,  and  with  streaming  eyes  and  choking  voice, 
but  yet  with  majesty,  whispered,  laying  her  hand  on  Au 
rora's  head  : 

"  Never  mind,  my  child  ;  never  mind  ;  never  mind." 

And  Honore's  sister,  when  she  was  presently  intro 
duced,  kissed  Aurora  and  murmured  : 

"  The  good  God  bless  thee  !  It  is  He  who  has  brought 
us  together." 

"  Who  is  with  him  just  now  ?  "  whispered  the  two 
other  ladies,  while  Honore  and  his  mother  stood  a  mo 
ment  aside  in  hurried  consultation. 

"  My  daughter,"  said  Aurora,  "  and " 

"  Agamemnon,"  suggested  Madame  Martinez. 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  Aurora. 

Valentine  appeared  from  the  direction  of  the  sick-room 
and  beckoned  to  Honore.  Doctor  Keene  did  the  same 
and  continued  to  advance. 

"  Awake  ?  "  asked  Honoris. 

"Yes." 

"  Alas  !  my  brother  !  "  said  Madame  Grandissime,  and 
started  forward,  followed  by  the  other  women. 

"  Wait,"  said  Honore,  and  they  paused.  "  Charlie," 
he  said,  as  the  little  doctor  persistently  pushed  by  him 
at  the  head  of  the  stair. 

"  Oh,  there's  no  chance,  Honoro,  you'd  as  well  all  go 
in  there." 

They  gathered  into  the  room  and  about  the  bed. 
Madame  Grandissime  bent  over  it. 

"  Ah  !  sister,"  said  the  dying  man,  "is  that  you?     I 


DYING    WORDS.  431 

had  the  sweetest  dream  just  now — just  for  a  minute." 
He  sighed.  "  1  feel  very  weak.  Where  is  Charlie 
Keene  ?  " 

He  had  spoken  in  French  ;  he  repeated  his  question 
in  English.  He  thought  he  saw  the  doctor. 

"  Charlie,  if  I  must  meet  the  worst  I  hope  you  will 
tell  me  so ;  I  am  fully  prepared.  Ah !  excuse — I 
thought  it  was 

"  My  eyes  seem  dim  this  evening.  Est-ce-votts,  Ho 
nore  ?  Ah,  Honore,  you  went  over  to  the  enemy,  did 
you  ? — Well, — the  Fusilier  blood  would  al — ways — do 
as  it  pleased.  Here's  your  old  uncle's  hand,  Honore. 
I  forgive  you,  Honore  —  my  noble-hearted,  foolish — 
boy."  He  spoke  feebly,  and  with  great  nervousness. 

"Water." 

It  was  given  him  by  Aurora.  He  looked  in  her  face  ; 
they  could  not  be  sure  whether  he  recognized  her  or 
not.  He  sank  back,  closed  his  eyes,  and  said,  more 
softly  and  dreamily,  as  if  to  himself,  "  I  forgive  every 
body.  A  man  must  die — I  forgive — even  the  enemies 
— of  Louisiana." 

He  lay  still  a  few  moments,  and  then  revived  ex 
citedly.  "  Honore  !  tell  Professor  Frowenfeld  to  take 
care  of  that  Philippique  Gc'ncrale.  'Tis  a  grand  thing, 
Honore,  on  a  grand  theme  !  I  wrote  it  myself  in  one 
evening.  Your  Yankee  Government  is  a  failure,  Ho 
nore,  a  drivelling  failure.  It  may  live  a  year  or  two, 
not  longer.  Truth  will  triumph.  The  old  Louisiana 
will  rise  again.  She  will  get  back  her  trampled  rights. 
When  she  does,  remem —  His  voice  failed,  but  he 

held  up  one  finger  firmly  by  way  of  accentuation. 

There  was  a  stir  among  the  kindred.  Surely  this  was 
a  turn  for  the  better.  The  doctor  ought  to  be  brought 


432  THE    GRANDISSIMES, 

back.  A  little  while  ago  he  was  not  nearly  so  strong. 
"  Ask  Honore  if  the  doctor  should  not  come."  But 
Honore  shook  his  head.  The  old  man  began  again. 

"  Honore  !  Where  is  Honore  ?  Stand  by  me,  here, 
Honore  ;  and  sister  ? — on  this  other  side.  My  eyes  are 
very  poor  to-day.  Why  do  I  perspire  so  ?  Give  me  a 
drink.  You  see — I  am  better  now ;  I  have  ceased — to 
throw  up  blood.  Nay,  let  me  talk."  He  sighed,  closed 
his  eyes,  and  opened  them  again  suddenly.  "  Oh,  Ho 
nore,  you  and  the  Yankees — you  and — all — going  wrong 
— education —  masses — weaken  —  caste  —  indiscr — quar 
rels  settl' — by  affidav' — Oh  !  Honor6." 

"  If  he  would  only  forget,"  said  one,  in  an  agonized 
whisper,  "  that  philippique  gcndralc  !  " 

Aurora  whispered  earnestly  and  tearfully  to  Madame 
Grandissime.  Surely  they  were  not  going  to  let  him  go 
thus  !  A  priest  could  at  least  do  no  harm.  But  when 
the  proposition  was  made  to  him  by  his  sister,  he  said  : 

"  No  ; — no  priest.  You  have  my  will,  Honore, — in 
your  iron  box.  Professor  Frowenfeld," — he  changed  his 
speech  to  English, — "  I  have  written  you  an  article  on" 
his  words  died  on  his  lips. 

"  Joseph,  son,  I  do  not  see  you.  Beware,  my  son, 
of  the  doctrine  of  equal  rights — a  bottomless  iniquity. 
Master  and  man — arch  and  pier — arch  above — pier  be 
low."  He  tried  to  suit  the  gesture  to  the  words,  but  both 
hands  and  feet  were  growing  uncontrollably  restless. 

"Society,  Professor,"  —he  addressed  himself  to  a 
weeping  girl, — "  society  has  pyramids  to  build  which 
make  menials  a  necessity,  and  Nature  furnishes  the  me 
nials  all  in  dark  uniform.  She — I  cannot  tell  you — you 
will  find — all  in  the  Philippique  Ghicrale.  Ah  !  Ho 
nore,  is  it " 


DYING    WORDS.  433 

He  suddenly  ceased. 

"  I  have  lost  my  glasses." 

Beads  of  sweat  stood  out  upon  his  face.  He  grew 
frightfully  pale.  There  was  a  general  dismayed  haste, 
and  they  gave  him  a  stimulant. 

"  Brother,"  said  the  sister,  tenderly. 

He  did  not  notice  her. 

"  Agamemnon  \  Go  and  tell  Jean-Baptiste "his 

eyes  drooped  and  flashed  again  wildly. 

"  I  am  here,  Agricole,"  said  the  voice  of  Jean-Bap 
tiste,  close  beside  the  bed. 

"  I  told  you  to  let — that  negress — 

"  Yes,  we  have  let  her  go.     We  have  let  all  of  them 

S°-" 

"  All   of  them,"  echoed   the  dying  man,  feebly,  with 

wandering  eyes.  Suddenly  he  brightened  again  and 
tossed  his  arms.  "Why,  there  you  were  wrong,  Jean- 
Baptiste;  the  community  must  be  protected."  His 
voice  sank  to  a  murmur.  "  He  would  not  take  off — you 
must  remem —  He  was  silent.  "  You  must  remem — 
those  people  are— are  not — white  people."  He  ceased 
a  moment.  "  Where  am  I  going  ?  "  He  began  evidently 
to  look  or  try  to  look,  for  some  person  ;  but  they  could 
not  divine  his  wish  until,  with  piteous  feebleness,  he 
called : 

"  Aurore  De  Grapion  !  " 

So  he  had  known  her  all  the  time. 

Honore's  mother  had  dropped  on  her  knees  beside 
the  bed,  dragging  Aurora  down  with  her.  They  rose 
together. 

The  old  man  groped  distressfully  with  one  hand. 
She  laid  her  own  in  it. 

"  Honore  ! " 
'9 


434  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  What  could  he  want  ?  "  wondered  the  tearful  family. 
He  was  feeling  about  with  the  other  hand.  "  Hon — 
Honore  " — his  weak  clutch  could  scarcely  close  upon 
his  nephew's  hand. 

"  Put  them — put — put  them — 

What  could  it  mean  ?     The  four  hands  clasped. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  one,  with  fresh  tears,  "he  is  trying  to 
speak  and  cannot." 

But  he  did. 

"  Aurore  De  Gra — I  pledge' — pledge' — pledged — this 
union — to  your  fa — father — twenty — years — ago." 

The  family  looked  at  each  other  in  dejected  amaze 
ment.  They  had  never  known  it. 

"  He  is  going,"  said  Agamemnon ;  and  indeed  it 
seemed  as  though  he  was  gone  ;  but  he  rallied. 

"  Agamemnon  !  Valentine  !  Honore  !  patriots  !  pro 
tect  the  race  !  Beware  of  the  " — that  sentence  escaped 
him.  He  seemed  to  fancy  himself  haranguing  a  crowd  ; 
made  another  struggle  for  intelligence,  tried  once,  twice, 
to  speak,  and  the  third  time  succeeded  : 

"  Louis — Louisian — a — for — ever  !  "  and  lay  still. 

They  put  those  two  words  on  his  tomb. 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

WHERE  SOME   CREOLE  MONEY   GOES. 

AND  yet  the  family  committee  that  ordered  the  in 
scription,  the  mason  who  cut  it  in  the  marble — himself 
a  sort  of  half-Grandissime,  half-nobody — and  even  the 
fair  women  who  each  eve  of  All  Saints  came,  attended 
by  flower-laden  slave  girls,  to  lay  coronals  upon  the  old 
man's  tomb,  felt,  feebly  at  first,  and  more  and  more 
distinctly  as  years  went  by,  that  Forever  was  a  trifle 
long  for  one  to  confine  one's  patriotic  affection  to  a  small 
fraction  of  a  great  country. 

"  And  you  say  your  family  decline  to  accept  the  as 
sistance  of  the  police  in  their  endeavors  to  bring  the 
killer  of  your  uncle  to  justice  ?  "  asked  some  Americain 
or  other  of  'Polyte  Grandissime. 

"  Sir,  mie  fam'lie  do  not  want  to  fetch  him  to  justice  ! 
— neither  Palmyre  !  We  are  goin' to  fetch  the  justice 
to  them  !  and,  sir,  when  we  cannot  do  that,  sir,  by  our 
selves,  sir, — no,  sir  !  no  police  !  " 

So  Clemence  was  the  only  victim  of  the  family  wrath  ; 
for  the  other  two  were  never  taken  ;  and  it  helps  our 
good  feeling  for  the  Grandissimes  to  know  that  in  later 
times,  under  the  gentler  influences  of  a  higher  civiliza 
tion,  their  old  Spanish-colonial  ferocity  was  gradually 
absorbed  by  the  growth  of  better  traits.  To-day  almost 


436  THE    GRANDISSIMES, 

all  the  savagery  that  can  justly  be  charged  against  Louis 
iana  must — strange  to  say — be  laid  at  the  door  of  the 
Ainc'ri'cain.  The  Creole  character  has  been  diluted  and 
sweetened. 

One  morning  early  in  September,  some  two  weeks 
after  the  death  of  Agricola,  the  same  brig  which  some 
thing  less  than  a  year  before  had  brought  the  Frowen- 
felds  to  New  Orleans,  crossed,  outward  bound,  the  sharp 
line  dividing  the  sometimes  tawny  waters  of  Mobile  Bay 
from  the  deep  blue  Gulf,  and  bent  her  way  toward 
Europe. 

She  had  two  passengers  ;  a  tall,  dark,  wasted  yet 
handsome  man  of  thirty-seven  or  thirty-eight  years  of 
age,  and  a  woman  seemingly  some  three  years  younger, 
of  beautiful  though  severe  countenance  ;  "  very  elegant- 
looking  people  and  evidently  rich,"  so  the  brig-master 
described  them, — "  had  much  the  look  of  some  of  the 
Mississippi  River  '  Lower  Coast '  aristocracy."  Their 
appearance  was  the  more  interesting  for  a  look  of  mental 
distress  evident  on  the  face  of  each.  Brother  and  sister, 
they  called  themselves  ;  but,  if  so,  she  was  the  most 
severely  reserved  and  distant  sister  the  master  of  the 
vessel  had  ever  seen. 

They  landed,  if  the  account  comes  down  to  us  right, 
at  Bordeaux.  The  captain,  a  fellow  of  the  peeping  sort, 
found  pastime  in  keeping  them  in  sight  after  they  had 
passed  out  of  his  care  ashore.  They  went  to  different 
hotels ! 

The  vessel  was  detained  some  weeks  in  this  harbor, 
and  her  master  continued  to  enjoy  himself  in  the  way  in 
which  he  had  begun.  He  saw  his  late  passengers  meet 
often,  in  a  certain  quiet  path  under  the  trees  of  the  Quin- 
conce.  Their  conversations  were  low  ;  in  the  patois 


WHERE  SOME    CREOLE  MONEY  GOES.  437 

they  used  they  could  have  afforded  to  speak  louder  ; 
their  faces  were  always  grave  and  almost  always  troubled. 
The  interviews  seemed  to  give  neither  of  them  any 
pleasure.  The  monsieur  grew  thinner  than  ever,  and 
sadly  feeble. 

"  He  wants  to  charter  her,"  the  seaman  concluded, 
"  but  she  doesn't  like  his  rates." 

One  day,  the  last  that  he  saw  them  together,  they 
seemed  to  be,  each  in  a  way  different  from  the  other, 
under  a  great  strain.  He  was  haggard,  woe-begone, 
nervous;  she  high-strung,  resolute, — with  "eyes  that 
shone  like  lamps,"  as  said  the  observer. 

"  She's  a-sendin'  him  'way  to  lew-ard,"  thought  he. 
Finally  the  Monsieur  handed  her — or  rather  placed  upon 
the  seat  near  which  she  stood,  what  she  would  not  re 
ceive — a  folded  and  sealed  document,  seized  her  hand, 
kissed  it,  and  hurried  away.  She  sank  down  upon  the 
seat,  weak  and  pale,  and  rose  to  go,  leaving  the  docu 
ment  behind.  The  mariner  picked  it  up  ;  it  was  directed 
to  Jlf.  Honore  Grandissime,  Nouvclle  Orleans,  Etats 
Unis,  Anicrique.  She  turned  suddenly,  as  if  remember 
ing,  or  possibly  reconsidering,  and  received  it  from 
him. 

"  It  looked  like  a  last  will  and  testament,"  the  sea 
man  used  to  say,  in  telling  the  story. 

The  next  morning,  being  at  the  water's  edge  and  see 
ing  a  number  of  persons  gathering  about  something  not 
far  away,  he  sauntered  down  toward  it  to  see  how  small 
a  thing  was  required  to  draw  a  crowd  of  these  French 
men.  It  was  the  drowned  body  of  the  f.  m.  c. 

Did  the  brig-master  never  see  the  woman  again  ?  He 
always  waited  for  this  question  to  be  asked  him,  in 
order  to  state  the  more  impressively  that  he  did.  His 


438  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

brig  became  a.  regular  Bordeaux  packet,  and  he  saw  the 
Madame  twice  or  thrice,  apparently  living  at  great  ease, 

but  solitarily,  in  the  rue .  He  was  free  to  relate  that 

he  tried  to  scrape  acquaintance  with  her,  but  failed 
ignominiously. 

The  rents  of  No.  19  rue  Bienville  and  of  numerous 
other  places,  including  the  new  drug-store  in  the  rue 
Royale,  were  collected  regularly  by  H.  Grandissime, 
successor  to  Grandissime  Freres.  Rumor  said,  and  tra 
dition  repeats,  that  neither  for  the  advancement  of  a 
friendless  people,  nor  even  for  the  repair  of  the  proper 
ties'  wear  and  tear,  did  one  dollar  of  it  ever  remain  in 
New  Orleans  ;  but  that  once  a  year  Honore,  "  as  in 
structed,"  remitted  to  Madame — say  Madame  Inconnue 
— of  Bordeaux,  the  equivalent,  in  francs,  of  fifty  thou 
sand  dollars.  It  is  averred  he  did  this  without  interrup 
tion  for  twenty  years.  "  Let  us  see  :  fifty  times  twenty 
— one  million  dollars.  But  that  is  only  a  part  of  the 
pecuniary  loss  which  this  sort  of  thing  costs  Louisiana." 

But  we  have  wandered. 


CHAPTER   LX. 

"  ALL  RIGHT." 

THE  sun  is  once  more  setting  upon  the  Place  d'Armes. 
Once  more  the  shadows  of  cathedral  and  town-hall  lie 
athwart  the  pleasant  grounds  where  again  the  city's 
fashion  and  beauty  sit  about  in  the  sedate  Spanish  way, 
or  stand  or  slowly  move  in  and  out  among  the  old  wil 
lows  and  along  the  white  walks.  Children  are  again 
playing  on  the  sward  ;  some,  you  may  observe,  are  in 
black,  for  Agricola.  You  see,  too,  a  more  peaceful 
river,  a  nearer-seeming  and  greener  opposite  shore,  and 
many  other  evidences  of  the  drowsy  summer's  unwill 
ingness  to  leave  the  embrace  of  this  seductive  land  ; 
the  dreamy  quietude  of  birds  ;  the  spreading,  folding, 
re-expanding  and  slow  pulsating  of  the  all-prevailing 
fan  (how  like  the  unfolding  of  an  angel's  wing  is  oft- 
times  the  broadening  of  that  little  instrument  !)  ;  the  oft- 
drawn  handkerchief ;  the  pale,  cool  colors  of  summer 
costume  ;  the  swallow,  circling  and  twittering  overhead 
or  darting  across  the  sight  ;  the  languid  movement  of 
foot  and  hand  ;  the  reeking  flanks  and  foaming  bits  of 
horses  ;  the  ear-piercing  note  of  the  cicada ;  the  dan 
cing  butterfly  ;  the  dog,  dropping  upon  the  grass  and 
looking  up  to  his  master  with  roping  jaw  and  lolling 
tongue  ;  the  air  sweetened  with  the  merchandise  of  the 
flower  marchandes. 


44O  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

On  the  levee  road,  bridles  and  saddles,  whips,  gigs, 
and  carriages, — what  a  merry  coming  and  going!  We 
look,  perforce,  toward  the  old  bench  where,  six  months 
ago,  sat  Joseph  Frowenfeld.  There  is  somebody  there 
— a  small,  thin,  weary-looking  man,  who  leans  his  bared 
head  slightly  back  against  the  tree,  his  thin  fingers  knit 
together  in  his  lap,  and  his  chapeau-bras  pressed  under 
his  arm.  You  note  his  extreme  neatness  of  dress,  the 
bright,  unhealthy  restlessness  of  his  eye,  and — as  a 
beam  from  the  sun  strikes  them — the  fineness  of  his 
short  red  curls.  It  is  Doctor  Keene, 

He  lifts  his  head  and  looks  forward.  Honore  and 
Frowenfeld  are  walking  arm-in-arm  under  the  further 
most  row  of  willows.  Honore  is  speaking.  How  grace 
fully,  in  correspondence  with  his  words,  his  free  arm  or 
hand — sometimes  his  head  or  even  his  lithe  form — 
moves  in  quiet  gesture,  while  the  grave,  receptive 
apothecary  takes  into  his  meditative  mind,  as  into  a 
large,  cool  cistern,  the  valued  rain-fall  of  his  friend's 
communications.  They  are  near  enough  for  the  little 
doctor  easily  to  call  them  ;  but  he  is  silent.  The  un 
happy  feel  so  far  away  from  the  happy.  Yet — "Take 
care  !  "  comes  suddenly  to  his  lips,  and  is  almost  spoken  ; 
for  the  two,  about  to  cross  toward  the  Place  d'Armes  at 
the  very  spot  where  Aurora  had  once  made  her  narrow 
escape,  draw  suddenly  back,  while  the  black  driver  of  a 
volante  reins  up  the  horse  he  bestrides,  and  the  animal 
himself  swerves  and  stops. 

The  two  friends,  though  startled  apart,  hasten  with 
lifted  hats  to  the  side  of  the  volante,  profoundly  con 
vinced  that  one  at  least,  of  its  two  occupants,  is  heart 
ily  sorry  that  they  were  not  rolled  in  the  dust.  Ah, 
ah  !  with  what  a  wicked,  ill-stifled  merriment  those  two 


"ALL  RIGHT."  441 

ethereal  women  bent  forward  in  the  faintly  perfumed 
clouds  of  their  ravishing  summer-evening  garb,  to  ex 
press  their  equivocal  mortification  and  regret. 

"  Oh  !  I'm  so  sawry,  oh  !  Almoze  runned  o ah, 

ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

Aurora  could  keep  the  laugh  back  no  longer. 

"An'  righd  yeh  befo' haivry  boddie !  Ah,  ha,  ha  ! 
'Sieur  Grandissime,  'tis  me-e-e  w'ad  know  'ow  dad  is 
bad,  ha,  ha,  ha !  Oh  !  I  assu'  you,  gen'lemen,  id  is 
hawful  !  " 

And  so  on. 

By  and  by  Honor6  seemed  urging  them  to  do  some 
thing,  the  thought  of  which  made  them  laugh,  yet  was 
entertained  as  not  entirely  absurd.  It  may  have  been 
that  to  which  they  presently  seemed  to  consent  ;  they 
alighted  from  the  volante,  dismissed  it,  and  walked  each 
at  a  partner's  side  down  the  grassy  avenue  of  the  levee. 
It  was  as  Clotilde  with  one  hand  swept  her  light  robes 
into  perfect  adjustment  for  the  walk,  and  turned  to  take 
the  first  step  with  Frowenfeld,  that  she  raised  her  eyes 
for  the  merest  instant  to  his,  and  there  passed  between 
them  an  exchange  of  glance  which  made  the  heart  of 
the  little  doctor  suddenly  burn  like  a  ball  of  fire. 

"  Now  we're  all  right,"  he  murmured  bitterly  to  him 
self,  as,  without  having  seen  him,  she  took  the  arm  of 
the  apothecary,  and  they  moved  away. 

Yes,  if  his  irony  was  meant  for  this  pair,  he  divined 
correctly.  Their  hearts  had  found  utterance  across  the 
lips,  and  the  future  stood  waiting  for  them  on  the  thresh 
old  of  a  new  existence,  to  usher  them  into  a  perpetual 
copartnership  in  all  its  joys  and  sorrows,  its  disappoint 
ments,  its  imperishable  hopes,  its  aims,  its  conflicts,  its 
rewards  ;  and  the  true — the  great — the  everlasting  God 
14* 


442  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

of  love  was  with  them.  Yes,  it  had  been  "all  right," 
now,  for  nearly  twenty-four  hours — an  age  of  bliss. 
And  now,  as  they  walked  beneath  the  willows  where  so 
many  lovers  had  walked  before  them,  they  had  whole 
histories  to  tell  of  the  tremors,  the  dismays,  the  miscon 
structions  and  longings  through  which  their  hearts  had 
come  to  this  bliss  ;  how  at  such  a  time,  thus  and  so  ; 
and  after  such  and  such  a  meeting,  so  and  so  ;  no  part 
of  which  was  heard  by  alien  ears,  except  a  fragment  of 
Clotilde's  speech  caught  by  a  small  boy  in  unintentioned 
ambush. 

"  -  — Evva  sinze  de  firze  nighd  w'en  I  big- in  to  nurze 
you  wid  de  fivver." 

She  was  telling  him,  with  that  new,  sweet  boldness 
so  wonderful  to  a  lately  accepted  lover,  how  long  she 
had  loved  him. 

Later  on  they  parted  at  the  porte-cochere.  Honor£ 
and  Aurora  had  got  there  before  them,  and  were  pass 
ing  on  up  the  stairs.  Clotilde,  catching,  a  moment  be 
fore,  a  glimpse  of  her  face,  had  seen  that  there  was 
something  wrong  ;  weather-wise  as  to  its  indications  she 
perceived  an  impending  shower  of  tears.  A  faint  shade 
of  anxiety  rested  an  instant  on  her  own  face.  Frowen- 
feld  could  not  go  in.  They  paused  a  little  within  the 
obscurity  of  the  corridor,  and  just  to  reassure  them 
selves  that  everything  was  "all  right,"  they 

God  be  praised  for  love's  young  dream. 

The  slippered  feet  of  the  happy  girl,  as  she  slowly 
mounted  the  stair  alone,  overburdened  with  the  weight 
of  her  blissful  reverie,  made  no  sound.  As  she  turned 
its  mid-angle  she  remembered  Aurora.  She  could  guess 
pretty  well  the  source  of  her  trouble  ;  Honore  was  try 
ing  to  treat  that  hand-clasping  at  the  bedside  of  Agri- 


"ALL   RIGHT."  443 

cola  as  a  binding  compact ;  "  which,  of  course,  was  not 
fair."  She  supposed  they  would  have  gone  into  the  front 
drawing-room  ;  she  would  go  into  the  back.  But  she 
miscalculated  ;  as  she  silently  entered  the  door  she  saw 
Aurora  standing  a  little  way  beyond  her,  close  before 
Honore,  her  eyes  cast  down,  and  the  trembling  fan 
hanging  from  her  two  hands  like  a  broken  pinion.  He 
seemed  to  be  reiterating,  in  a  tender  undertone,  some 
question  intended  to  bring  her  to  a  decision.  She  lifted 
up  her  eyes  toward  his  with  a  mute,  frightened  glance. 

The  intruder,  with  an  involuntary  murmur  of  apology, 
drew  back  ;  but,  as  she  turned,  she  was  suddenly  and 
unspeakably  saddened  to  see  Aurora  drop  her  glance, 
and,  with  a  solemn  slowness  whose  momentous  signifi 
cance  was  not  to  be  mistaken,  silently  shake  her  head. 

"  Alas  !  "  cried  the  tender  heart  of  Clotilde.  "  Alas  ! 
M.  Grandissime ! " 


CHAPTER   LXI. 
"NO!" 

IF  M.  Grandissime  had  believed  that  he  was  pre 
pared  for  the  supreme  bitterness  of  that  moment,  he  had 
sadly  erred.  He  could  not  speak.  He  extended  his 
hand  in  a  dumb  farewell,  when,  all  unsanctioned  by  his 
will,  the  voice  of  despair  escaped  him  in  a  low  groan. 
At  the  same  moment,  a  tinkling  sound  drew  near,  and 
the  room,  which  had  grown  dark  with  the  fall  of  night, 
began  to  brighten  with  the  softly  widening  light  of  an 
evening  lamp,  as  a  servant  approached  to  place  it  in  the 
front  drawing-room. 

Aurora  gave  her  hand  and  withdrew  it.  In  the  act 
the  two  somewhat  changed  position,  and  the  rays  of  the 
lamp,  as  the  maid  passed  the  door,  falling  upon  Aurora's 
face,  betrayed  the  again  upturned  eyes. 

"  'Sieur  Grandissime " 

They  fell. 

The  lover  paused. 

"  You  thing  I'm  crool." 

She  was  the  statue  of  meekness. 

"  Hope  has  been  crhuel  to  me,"  replied  M.  Grandis 
sime,  "  not  you  ;  that  I  cannot  say.  Adieu." 

He  was  turning. 

"'Sieur  Grandissime " 

She  seemed  to  tremble. 


"NO!"  445 

He  stood  still. 

"  'Sieur  Grandissime," — her  voice  was  very  tender, — 
"  wad  you'  horry  ?  " 

There  was  a  great  silence. 

"  'Sieur  Grandissime,  you  know — teg  a  chair." 

He  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  both  sat  down.  The 
servant  repassed  the  door ;  yet  when  Aurora  broke  the 
silence,  she  spoke  in  English — having  such  hazardous 
things  to  say.  It  would  conceal  possible  stammerings. 

"  'Sieur  Grandissime — you  know  dad  riz'n  I " 

She  slightly  opened  her  fan,  looking  down  upon  it, 
and  was  still. 

"  I  have  no  rhight  to  ask  the  rheason,"  said  M.  Gran 
dissime.  "  It  is  yo's — not  mine." 

Her  head  went  lower. 

"  Well,  you  know," — she  drooped  it  meditatively  to 
one  side,  with  her  eyes  on  the  floor, — "  'tis  bick-ause — 
'tis  bick-ause  I  thing  in  a  few  days  I'm  goin'  to  die." 

M.  Grandissime  said  never  a  word.  He  was  not 
alarmed. 

She  looked  up  suddenly  and  took  a  quick  breath,  as 
if  to  resume,  but  her  eyes  fell  before  his,  and  she  said, 
in  a  tone  of  half-soliloquy  : 

"  I  'ave  so  mudge  troub'  wit  dad  hawt." 

She  lifted  one  little  hand  feebly  to  the  cardiac  region, 
and  sighed  softly,  with  a  dying  languor. 

M.  Grandissime  gave  no  response.  A  vehicle  rumbled 
by  in  the  street  below,  and  passed  away.  At  the  bot 
tom  of  the  room,  where  a  gilded  Mars  was  driving  into 
battle,  a  soft  note  told  the  half-hour.  The  lady  spoke 
again. 

"Id  mague  " — she  sighed  once  more — "so  strange, 
— sometime'  I  thing  I'm  git'n'  crezzy." 


446  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

Still  he  to  whom  these  fearful  disclosures  were  being 
made  remained  as  silent  and  motionless  as  an  Indian 
captive,  and,  after  another  pause,  with  its  painful  ac 
companiment  of  small  sounds,  the  fair  speaker  resumed 
with  more  energy,  as  befitting  the  approach  to  an  in 
credible  climax : 

"  Some  day',  'Sieur  Grandissime, — id  mague  me 
fo'gid  my  hage  !  I  thing  I'm  young  !  " 

She  lifted  her  eyes  with  the  evident  determination  to 
meet  his  own  squarely,  but  it  was  too  much  ;  they  fell 
as  before  ;  yet  she  went  on  speaking  : 

"  An'  w'en  someboddie  git'n'  ti'ed  livin'  wid  'imsev 
an*  big'n'  to  fill  ole,  an'  wan'  someboddie  to  teg  de  care 
of  'im  an'  wan'  me  to  gid  marri'd  wid  'im — I  thing  'e's 
in  love  to  me."  Her  fingers  kept  up  a  little  shuffling 
with  the  fan.  "  I  thing  I'm  crezzy.  I  thing  I  muz  be 
go'n'  to  die  torecklie."  She  looked  up  to  the  ceiling 
with  large  eyes,  and  then  again  at  the  fan  in  her  lap, 
which  continued  its  spreading  and  shutting.  "  An'  daz 
de  riz'n,  'Sieur  Grandissime."  She  waited  until  it  was 
certain  he  was  about  to  answer,  and  then  interrupted 
him  nervously:  "You  know  'Sieur  Grandissime,  id 
woon  be  righd !  Id  woon  be  de  juztiz  to  you  !  An' 
you  de  bez  man  I  evva  know  in  my  life,  'Sieur  Grandis 
sime  !"  Her  hands  shook.  "A  man  w'at  nevva  wan' 
to  gid  marri'd  wid  noboddie  in  'is  life,  and  now  trine  to 
gid  marri'd  juz  only  to  rip-ose  de  soul  of  'is  oncl' — 

M.  Grandissime  uttered  an  exclamation  of  protest, 
and  she  ceased. 

"  I  asked  you,"  continued  he,  with  low-toned  em 
phasis,  "  fo'  the  single  and  only  rheason  that  I  want  you 
fo'  my  wife  !  " 

"  Yez,"   she  quickly  replied  ;  "daz  all.     Daz  wad  I 


"  NO!"  447 

thing-.  An'  I  thing  daz  de  rad  weh  to  say,  'Sieur  Gran- 
dissime.  Bick-ause,  you  know,  you  an'  me  is  too  hole 
to  talg  aboud  dad  loving  you  know.  An'  you  godd  dad 
grade  rizpeg  fo'  me,  an'  me  I  godd  dad  'ighez  rispeg  fo' 

you  ;  bud "  she  clutched  the  fan  and  her  face  sank 

lower  still — "  bud—  "  she  swallowed — shook  her  head 
• — "  bud "  She  bit  her  lip  ;  she  could  not  go  on. 

"Aurora,"  said  her  lover,  bending  forward  and  taking 
one  of  her  hands.  "  I  do  love  you  with  all  my  soul." 

She  made  a  poor  attempt  to  withdraw  her  hand, 
abandoned  the  effort,  and  looked  up  savagely  through  a 
pair  of  overflowing  eyes,  demanding  : 

"  Mais,  fo'  w'y  you  di'n'  wan'  to  sesso?  " 

M.  Grandissime  smiled  argumentatively. 

"  I  have  said  so  a  hundrhed  times,  in  everhy  way  but 
in  words." 

She  lifted  her  head  proudly,  and  bowed  like  a  queen. 

"  Mais,  you  see,  'Sieur  Grandissime,  you  bin  meg 
one  mizteg." 

"  Bud  'tis  corrhected  in  time,"  exclaimed  he,  with 
suppressed  but  eager  joyousness. 

"  'Sieur  Grandissime,"  she  said  with  a  tremendous 
solemnity,  "  I'm  verrie  sawrie,  mais — you  spogue  too 
lade." 

"  No,  no  !  "  he  cried,  "  the  corrhection  comes  in  time. 
Say  that,  lady  ;  say  that  !  " 

His  ardent  gaze  beat  hers  once  more  down  ;  but  she 
shook  her  head.  He  ignored  the  motion. 

"  And  you  will  corrhect  yo'  answeh  ;  ah  !  say  that, 
too  ! "  he  insisted,  covering  the  captive  hand  with  both 
his  own,  and  leaning  forward  from  his  seat. 

"  Mais,  'Sieur  Grandissime,  you  know,  dad  is  so 
verrie  unegspeg'." 


448  THE    GRANDISSIMES. 

"  Oh  !    unexpected  !  " 

"Mais,  I  was  thing  all  dad  time  id  was  Clotilde  wad 
you— 

She  turned  her  face  away  and  buried  her  mouth  in 
her  handkerchief. 

"Ah  !  "  he  cried,  "  mock  me  no  mo',  Aurore  Nan- 
canou  !  " 

He  rose  erect  and  held  the  hand  firmly  which  she 
strove  to  draw  away  : 

"  Say  the  word,  sweet  lady  ;  say  the  word  !  " 

She  turned  upon  him  suddenly,  rose  to  her  feet,  was 
speechless  an  instant  while  her  eyes  flashed  into  his,  and 
crying  out : 

"  No  !  "  burst  into  tears,  laughed  through  them,  and 
let  him  clasp  her  to  his  bosom. 


THE  END. 


OLD  CREOLE  DAYS 

BY 

GEORGE   W.  CABLE. 

One  Volume,   16mo,   extra  cloth,        -       -  $1.OO. 


Mr.  Cable's  sketches  of  life  in  the  old  French  quarter  of  New  Orleans 
display  a  freshness  and  originality,  an  insight  into  the  character  of  the 
mixed  races  there,  and  a  faculty  of  seizing  on  the  picturesque  phases  of 
life  among  these  oddly  contrasted  people,  that  give  them  an  importance 
far  above  their  value  as  a  mere  collection  of  clever  stories.  "Sieur 
George,"  "  Madame  Delicieuse,"  "  Jean-ah  Poquelin,"  and  "The  Belles 
Demoiselles'  Plantation,"  are  some  of  the  stories  included — carrying  even 
in  their  titles  some  of  their  quaint  attractiveness. 

CRITICAL    NOTICES. 

•'  It  is  very  seldom  indeed  that  we  meet  with  a  book  so  distinctly  marking  the  advent 
of  a  writer  of  high  artistic  power  and  fresh  observation,  as  this  of  Mr.  Cable's.  After 
re-reading  carefully,  and  with  the  keenest  enjoyment,  the  stories  now  collected  under  one 
heading,  we  not  only  have  no  hesitation  in  pronouncing  their  author  a  genius  wilh  special 
and  captivating  endowments,  but  we  feel  it  an  imperative  critical  duty  to  so  declare  him." 

— Boston  Courier. 

"  Mr.  Cable  has  the  rare  gift  of  keen  observation,  united  to  great  descriptive  power. 
.  .  .  He  has  portrayed  the  character  of  the  remnant  of  France  stranded  on  a  toreign 
shore,  in  so  many  aspects,  that  the  reader  gains  a  most  perfect  id<;a  of  the  strange  com 
pound  of  courtesy  and  selfishness,  of  grace  and  untruthfuiness,  of  bravery  and  cunning, 
which  that  character  presents.  .  .  The  stories,  themselves,  display  an  inventive  genius 
which  ranks  the  author  among  the  best  of  our  modern  writers." — Christian  Intilligtncer. 

"These  charming  stories  attract  attention  and  commendation  by  their  quaint  delicacy 
of  style,  their  faithful  delineation  o!  Creole  character,  and  a  marked  originality.  The 
careful  rendering  of  the  dialect  reveals  patient  study  of  living  models  ;  and  to  any  reader 
whose  ear  is  accustomed  to  the  broken  English,  as  heard  in  the  parts  of  our  city  every 
day,  its  truth  to  nature  is  striking." — New  Orleans  Picayune. 

"  Here  is  true  art  work.  Here  is  poetry,  pathos,  tragedy,  humor.  Here  is  an  entranc 
ing  style.  Here  is  a  new  field,  one  full  of  passion  and  beauty.  Here  is  local  color  with 
strong  drawing.  Here,  in  this  little  volume,  is  life,  breath,  and  blood.  The  author  of 
this  book  is  an  artist,  and  over  such  a  revelation  one  may  be  permitted  strong  words." 

— Cincinnati  Times. 

"To  a  keen  zest  for  what  is  antique  and  picturesque,  Mr.  Cable  adds  a  surprising 
skill,  for  so  young  a  writer,  in  conceiving  and  developing  a  plot.  .  .  .  He  has  ren 
dered  very  finely  the  attractive  childlike  quality  so  often  seen  among  men  of  Latin  races, 
and  as  to  his  women,  they  are  as  delightful  as  the  scent  of  the  flowers  which  he  mentions 
every  now  and  then." — N.  Y.  Times. 

"  The  seven  sketches  which  compose  this  bright  little  volume  are  full  of  a  delicate  pathetic 
kumor  which  has  rarely  been  equaled  in  American  Literature." — Ditroit  Free  Press, 

"  The»e  half-pathetic,  half-humorous,  and  altogether  delicate  sketches,  constitute 
extremeiy  good  literature.  .  .  .  There  is  the  touch  of  a  true  artist  in  them." — Ev.  Post. 

"These  stories  contain  a  most  attractive  blending  of  vivid  descriptions  of  local  scenery 
«ith  admirable  delineations  of  personal  character." — Congregationalist. 


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LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF 

MADAME   BONAPARTE. 

BY    E.     L.    DIDIER. 


I  Volume,  I2mo,  Cloth.     With  Portrait,         -        $1.50. 


The  remarkable  career  of  Madame  Bonaparte,  which  ended  at  Balti 
more,  in  April  of  this  year,  possessed  features  which  make  it  as  interesting 
as  a  romance.  Few  of  the  present  generation,  when  they  read  in  the 
daily  papers  the  notice  of  the  death,  at  the  great  age  of  ninety-four,  of  this 
brilliant,  fascinating,  and  once  dazzlingly  beautiful  woman,  realized  what 
a  long  and  varied  series  of  events  had  been  comprised  in  her  life.  The 
account  of  Elizabeth  Patterson's  marriage,  at  eighteen,  to  Jerome  Bona 
parte,  the  brother  of  Napoleon  ;  of  her  desertion  by  her  husband  at 
Napoleon's  order,  and  of  the  ambitious  woman's  long  and  determined 
struggle  for  her  rights,  make  up  a  sufficiently  eventful  story. 

But  the  wonderfully  full  and  varied  character  of  Madame  Bonaparte'j 
life  is  only  fully  appreciated  when  it  is  remembered  that  all  this  had  hap 
pened  before  she  was  thirty;  that  after  the  Restoration  she  was  still  to 
spend  years  of  brilliant  social  success,  in  different  parts  of  Europe,  among 
the  most  prominent  people  of  the  time. 

A  great  number  of  her  letters,  covering  portions  of  her  life  as  fully 
as  a  diary,  have  come  into  the  hands  of  Mr.  Eugene  L.  Didier, 
who  has  been  for  several  years  a  special  student  of  everything  bearing 
upon  Madame  Bonaparte's  career,  and"  has  had  every  advantage  for  making 
a  thorough  biographical  study.  In  her  correspondence  her  opinions  are 
expressed  with  a  peculiar  candor  ;  and  the  cynical  frankness  with  which 
she  avows  her  ambitions  and  motives,  the  pungency  of.  her  comments  upon 
the  people  about  her,  and  the  accuracy  of  her  judgments,  as  they  are  found 
in  these  pages,  show  clearly  the  sharp  outlines  of  her  singular  character. 

The  publishers  have  had  the  privilege  of  consulting  Mr.  Charles 
Bonaparte,  of  Baltimore,  in  regard  to  the  publication  of  the  volume,  and, 
while  he  is  in  no  sense  responsible  for  any  portion  of  the  book,  they  are 
indebted  to  him  for  very  valuable  suggestions  and  criticisms. 

The  biography  will  be  illustrated  with  a  copy  of  Gilbert  Stuart's 
beautiful  portrait  of  Madame  Bonaparte  at  the  time  of  her  marriage,  giving 
three  different  views  of  the  face  on  the  same  canvas. 


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CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS, 

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>  The    oharm    off    these    nearly    perfect    atorlea   lie*   In    th«l» 
quicite  simplicity  and   most  tender  humor." — PHILADELPHIA  TIMK» 


RUDDER    GRANGE. 

By  FRANK  R.  STOCKTON. 


Ona  Volume,  IGmo,  Extra  Cloth,  $1.25.      Paper,  GO  cents. 


*'  Humor  like  this  is  perennial." — Washington  Post. 

"  Mr.  Stockton  has  rare  gifts  for  this  style  of  writing,  and  baa 
developed  in  these  papers  remarkable  genius." — Pittsburgh  Gazette. 

"  A  cei  tain  humorous  seriousness  over  matters  that  are  not  serious 
iurrounds  the  story,  even  in  its  most  indifferent  parts,  with  an  atmosphere, 
an  aroma  of  very  quaint  and  delightful  humor." — N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

"Mr.  Stockton's  vein  of  humor  is  a  fresh  and  rich  one,  that  affordi 
pleasure  to  mature  people  as  well  as  to  youne  ones.  Thus  far,  '  Rudder 
Grange '  is  his  best  effort." — Philadelphia  bulletin. 

"  Rudder  Grange  is  an  ideal  book  to  take  into  the  country  for 
summer  reading." — Portland  Press. 

"  Rudder  Grange  is  really  a  very  delightful  piece  of  fooling,  but,  like 
all  fooling  that  is  worth  the  while,  it  has  point  and  purpose." — Phil. 
Telegraph. 

"The  odd  conceit  of  making  his  young  couple  try  their  hands  at 
house-keeping  first  in  an  old  canal  boat,  suggests  many  droll  situations, 
which  the  author  improves  with  a  frolicsome  humor  that  is  all  his  own." 
—  Worcester  Spy. 

"  There  is  in  these  chapters  a  rare  and  captivating  drollery.  .  .  . 
We  have  had  more  pleasure  in  reading  them  over  again  than  we  had  when 
they  first  appeared  in  the  magazine." — Congregationalist. 


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A  NEW  STORY  BY  MRS.  BURNETT, 


By  FRANCES    HODGSON    BURNETT, 

Author  of  "THAT  LASS  o'  LOWRIE'S,"  "  HAWORTH'S,"  &c. 


One  volume,  12mo, 


T  s~\  T  T  T  C*  T  A  "\T  A  t>rmBs  out  a  side  of  Mrs.  Burnett's  powers 
L^\J  LJ  1  O  1  -M  1\  f\.  as  a  novelist  that  will  be  new  to  the  great 
majority  of  her  readers.  No  evidence  was  needed  to  prove  that  the  hand 
which  wrote  "Haworth's"  and  "That  Lass  o'  Lowrie's"  could  be  light 
and  delicate  as  well  as  strong  ;  but  in  the  peculiar  piquancy  which  she 
has  given  to  the  beginning  of  this  story,  and  the  touches  by  which  she 
has  brought  out  the  character  of  her  heroine  against  a  background  very 
different  from  the  stirring  scenery  she  has  used  before,  there  is  something 
altogether  novel. 


*HAWt)RTH'S* 


By  FRANCES    HODGSON    BURNETT, 


Author  of  "THAT  LASS  o'  LOWRIE'S.' 


One  vol.  12mo,  Illustrated, 


$1.50 


The  publication  of  a  new  novel  from  Mrs.  Burnett's  pen  has  become  an 
event  of  more  than  ordinary  moment,  both  to  the  critics  and  the  public  ; 
and  HAWORTH'S  fulfills  the  best  anticipations  of  both.  It  is  in  the 
direct  line  of  development  of  the  author's  strongest  traits,  and  marks  a 
higher  point  than  was  reached  even  in  the  best  passages  of  her  first  story. 


CRITICAL,  NOTICES. 

"  Iffnt'ortVt  is  a  product  of  genius  of  a  very  high  order — a  piece  of  work  which 
will  hold  a  permanent  place  in  literature  ;  one  of  those  masterly  performances  that  rise 
wholly  above  the  plane  of  light  literature  upon  which  novels  are  generally  placed." — 
Kvening  Past. 

"  It  is  but  faint  praise  to  speak  of  Ffainorth's  as  merely  a  good  novel.  It  is  one  of 
the  few  great  novels.  ...  As  a  story  it  is  alive  throughout  with  a  thrilling  interest 
which  does  not  (lag  from  beginning  to  end,  and,  besides  the  story,  there  is  in  it  a  won 
derfully  clever  study  of  human  nature." — Hart  ford  Courant. 


***  For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  prepaid,  vfiott  receipt  of  price,  by 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS, 

743  AND  745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


"  The  best  original  novei  that  has  appeared  in  this  country  for  many 
years."—  PHIL.  PRESS. 

THAT  LASS  0'  LOWRIE'S. 

BY  FRANCES    HODGSON   BURNETT. 


Pit  ESS    NOTICES. 

" The  publicntion  of  a  story  like  'That  Lass  o'  Lowrie's'  is  a  red-letter  day  in  th« 
World  of  literature." — N.  Y.  Herald. 

"'  We  know  of  no  more  powerf  il  work  from  a  woman's  hand  in  the  English  language, 
Bot  even  excepting  the  best  of  George  Eliot's." — Boston  Transcript. 

"It  creates  a  sensation  among  book  readers." — Hartford  Ti'nes. 

"The  novel  is  one  of  the  very  best  of  recent  fictions,  and  the  novelist  is  hereafter  a 
person  of  rank  and  consideration  in  letters" — Hartford  Courant. 

"The  author  might  have  named  her  book  '  Joan  Lowrie,  Lady,'  and  it  is  worthy  a 
placf  in  the  family  library  beside  Miss  Mu loch's,  'John  Halifax,  Gentleman,'  and 
George  Eliot's  "Adam  Bede.'  " — Boston  Watchman. 

"The  story  is  one  of  mark,  and  let  none  of  our  readers,  who  enjoy  the  truest  artistic 
work,  overlook  it." — CongregutionuUst. 

"  Unlike  most  of  the  current  works  of  fiction,  this  novel  is  a  study.  It  cannot  be  sifted 
at  a  glance,  nor  fully  understood  at  a  single  reading,  so  fruitful  and  comprehensive  is  its 
word  and  character  painting." — Boston  Post. 


Price,   Paper  Covers,  90 cents;  or,  $1.50  Extra  Cloth. 


SURLY  TIM,  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

By  the  Author  of  "  That  Lass  t?  Lewrie's." 
One  volume,  small  I2mo.     Cloth  extra,        ....        $1.25. 


The  volume  includes  eight  of  Mrs.  Burnett's  shorter  stories,  which  have 
appeared  in  the  magazines  during  the  last  few  years.  It  is  needless  to  s^iy 
that  these  have  been  among  the  most  popular  tales  that  have  lately  beoii 
written.  Surly  Tim  (told  in  Lancashire  dialect),  which  gives  the  title 
to  the  book,  is  perhaps  better  known  than  any  short  story  yet  published 
in  SCRIBNEK'S. 

CRITICAL    NOTICES. 

"They  are  powerful  and  pathetic  stories,  and  will  touch  the  sympathies  of  all  readers." 
— The  Commonwealth,  Boston. 

"  A  good  service  has  been  rendered  to  all  lovers  of  good  fiction  by  the  publication  of 
these  stories  in  this  permanent  form." — The  Evening  Mail. 


*»*  The  abrve  books  for  sale  by  ail  booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,jo*t  or  exfreu 
sirgts  paid,  ttjon  receipt  of  the  price  by  the  publishers, 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS, 

743  AVD  745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


"  Transmuting:  the  pleasant  paths  of  travel  Into  a  pleas- 
nil   book  for  liome."— N.  Y.  Tribune. 


A  NEW  BOOK  BY  MAKIOK"  HAKLAND. 

Loiteriiss  in  Pleasant  Falls. 

One  volume,  12mo,  $1.73 


Books  of  travel  have  multiplied  of  late  years  almost  in  a  direct  ratio 
to  the  increased  facilities  for  journeying,  and  it  may  be  said  that  the 
quality  has  also  proportionately  improved.  We  have  works  profusely 
adorned  with  superb  illustrations,  and  others  without  pictorial  embellish 
ments,  relying  for  their  attractiveness  on  the  charm  of  a  skilled  pen  and 
the  freshness  of  first  impressions.  Such  a  book  is  LOITERINGS  IN 
PLEASANT  PATHS,  by  "Marion  Harland,"  whose  Common  Sense 
books  have  made  her  name  a  household  word  in  every  part  of  the  land. 


"These  'familiar  talks  from  afar'  are  no  fancy  sketches,  but  actual 
experiences  and  impressions  of  a  shrewd  observer,  whose  mind  was  enriched 
and  fully  prepared  to  observe  accurately  and  write  intelligently  and  pro 
fitably.  Marion  Harland  always  writes  books  with  a  purpose,  and  the 
present  volume  is  no  exception  to  her  rule." — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

"The  observations  of  so  clever  a  woman,  who  carries  her  head  with 
her  upon  her  travels  and  ventures  to  make  use  of  all  her  faculties,  are 
worth  writing  about  and  reading  about,  and  this  particular  traveller  has 
the  good  gift  of  so  writing  about  them  that  the  reading  is  a  constant  and 
unfailing  source  of  pleasure." — Evangelist. 

4i  Those  who  are  going  abroad  will  find  this  volume  a  delightful  com 
panion  by  the  way;  while  those  who  are  compelled  to  stay  at  home  will 
find  it  the  best  possible  substitute  for  the  pleasure  of  foreign  travel,  as 
proved  by  actual  experience.1' — N.  Y.  Evening  Post, 


*#*  For   sale   by   all  booksellers,    or   sent  post-paid    vpon    receipt    of 
price,    tv 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S    SONS, 

743  AND  745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


The 


Letters  of  CharlesDfckens. 

Edited  by  his  Sister-in-Law  and  his  Eldest  Daughter. 
With  several  Fac-simile  Letters. 


Two  Volumes,  12mo,  cloth,     - 


$3.00. 


Parts  of  this  correspondence  record  Dickens's  experiences  from  day  to 
day  with  the  minuteness  of  a  diary,  introducing  the  most  capital  anecdotes 
and  inimitable  descriptions,  and  the  letters  have  naturally  aroused  an 
interest  which  hardly  anything  else  could  have  awakened,  unless  it  had 
been  a  posthumous  work  of  the  great  novelist.  Indeed,  the  correspondence 
is  actually  what  the  editors  say  in  their  preface  that  they  have  tried  to 
make  it — "another  book  from  Charles  Dickens's  own  hands — a  portrait  of 
himself  by  himself."  Altogether,  the  letters  give  such  a  revelation  of 
the  man  as  nothing  else  could  give  so  well,  and  as  might  make  a  substitute 
for  any  biography.  

CRITICAL,  NOTICES. 

"Their  literary  merit  is  great  and  genuine;  they  are  freshly  and  spontaneously 
written  in  English  that  is  clear  and  strong  and  unaffected  in  a  high  degree.  The  picture 
they  give  of  their  author  is  striking  and  singularly  pleasant.  They  bring  home  to  the 
reader  the  full  force  of  his  personality,  in  :tll  its  richness  and  expansiveness,  its  indom 
itable  energy  and  splendid  self-consciousness,  its  elasticity  and  resolution,  the  irresistible 
authority  of  its  union  of  vigor  and  charm  ;  and  they  heighten  the  reader's  opinion  of  him 
as  a  private  man  and  as  a  man  of  genius." — London  Atkenceum. 

"  No  formal  portrait  could  be  half  so  vivid.  In  this  book,  which  was  never  intended 
to  be  a  book,  we  come  nearer  to  the  man  as  he  was,  than  any  biographer  could  have 
brought  us.  .  .  .  The  letters  do  not  show  us  Dickens  at  work,  but  Dickens  at  play, 
relieved  from  the  strain  of  facing  the  public,  and  tossing  off  the  impressions  of  the 
moment  for  the  sympathetic  appreciation  of  his  own  inner  circle.  The  editors  say  that 
no  man  ever  expressed  himself  mor.-  in  his  letters  than  Charles  Dickens.  No  man 
certainly  ever  expressed  a  livelier  or  more  considerate  friendship,  a  purer  affection,  or  a 
more  exhilarating  sense  of  the  ridiculous."' — Fortnightly  Review. 

"Some  of  the  new  letters  published  within  the  last  week  from  the  pen  of  Charles 
Dickens  are  amongst  the  most  amusing  compositions  in  the  English  language.  .  .  . 
They  flash  Dickens  on  you  with  as  much  vigor  as  if  they  gave  you  a  glimpse  of  him  in  a 
magic-lantern." — London  Spectator. 

"That  bright  sparkling  style,  that  tenderness  of  heart  and  fund  of  cheery  humoi; 
.that  odd,  keen,  humorous  way  of  observing  and  noting  things,  that  appreciation  of  and 
affection  for  hosts  of  friends,  which  we  already  knew  to  be  among  his  most  lovable  traits, 
are  to  be  yet  once  more  tasted  and  enjoyed  in  these  pages." — Literary  World. 

"The  attractiveness  of  these  volumes  lies  in  their  free  and  natural  exhibition  of 
Mr.  Dickens's  mind  and  heart.  His  personality  saturates  them." — Congregationalism 

"  Of  three  things  noticeable  in  this  correspondence,  one  is  the  prevailing  cheerful 
ness  of  high  spirits.  ,  .  .  The  other  two  noticeable  things  are  the  great  excellence 
flexibility  and  simpleness  of  style  from  the  very  first,  and  the  surprising  quantity  of  highly 
entertaining  epistolary  writing  produced  by  this  one  man." — Boston  Courier, 


For    sale    by    all   booksellers,   or    sent  postpaid,    upon    receipt    of  price^ 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S   SONS, 

Nos.  743  AND  745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


THE  COMPLETE  POETICAL  WRITINGS 


DR.  J.  G.  HOLLAND, 

EDITOR  OF  SCRIBNER'S  MONTHLY  MAGAZINE. 

With  1 /lustrations  by  Reinhart,   Griswold,   and  Afary 
Hallock  Footc,  and  Portrait  by  Wyatt  Eaton, 

PRINTED  FROM  NEW  STEREOTYPED  PUTES,  PREPARED  EXPRESSLY  FOR  THIS  EDITION. 


One  Volume,  8vo.    Extra  Cloth,    -       -    $5.OO. 

CRITICAL     NOTICES. 

"  DR.  HOLLAND  will  always  find  a  congenial  audience  in  the  homes  of  culture  and 
refinement.  He  does  not  affect  the  play  of  the  darker  and  fiercer  passions,  but  delights  in 
the  sweet  images  that  cluster  around  the  domestic  hearth.  He  cherishes  a  strong  fellow- 
feeling  with  the  pure  and  tranquil  life  in  the  modest  social  circles  of  the  American  people, 
and  has  thus  won  his  way  to  the  companionship  of  many  friendly  hearts  " — IV.  Y.  Tribune. 

"It  is  the  rare  truthfulness  of  his  pictures  of  still  life,  the  poetry  with  which  he  has  the 
art  of  investing  homely  things  and  every-day  experiences,  and  the  strong  moral  motive 
with  which  his  writings  are  charged  which  especially  commend  them  to  the  great  army  of 
his  readers." — Springfield  Daily  Union. 

"DR.  HOLLAND'S  pen  moves  so  easily  and  gracefully  that  we  do  not  always  appre 
ciate  fully  the  re;il  poetic  merit,  the  subtle  meaning,  the  delicate  imagery  and  all  the 
mingled  truth  and  beauty  that  link  in  his  smooth-flowing  lines." — N-  Y.  ]-.va»gelist. 


DR.    HOLLAND'S     WORKS. 

Bitter  Sweet .  a  Poem,  .  .  $1.50 
Zathiina)  a  Poem.  .  .  .  1.50 
The  Mistress  of  the  Manse  i  a  Poem,  1.50 
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Nicholas  Minturn,  .  .  •  $1,75 
The  Story  of  Sevenoaks-  Ulus.  1.75 
Arthur  B^nnicastle  Illustrated.  1,75 
Letters  to  Young  People,  •  •  1.50 
Gold  Foil  hammered  from  Popular 

Proverbs 1.75 

Lessons  in  Lif',  -  •  •  1-75 
Plain  Talks  on  Familiar  Subjects,  175 
Letters  to  the  Joneses,  •  •  1.75 


BRTGHTWOOD     EDITION. 
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in  a  handsome  box  for  $9.00. 

*#*  For   sale   by   all  booksellers,    or   sent  post-paid    upon    receipt    of 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS, 

Nos.  743  AND  745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


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